


The Greatest Sacrifices

by Ronja



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Catching Fire AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:16:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 232,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ronja/pseuds/Ronja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss finds herself pregnant after the Victory Tour and devices a plan to save the child from future Hunger Games. (I'm not good at summaries).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written anything for "the Hunger Games" before so here goes nothing. For some odd reason many of my stories tend to involve pregnancies or small children. Hope it will entertain.

Part 1 – The Baby

 

When my period is late it sets off no alarms in my head. I only started getting them a year and a half ago and living on the brink of starvation has made them anything but regular. It doesn’t even cross my mind that there might be something going on until I become queasy. Even then my mind does not immediately connect the two symptoms. The very idea is so foreign to me that it hardly seems possible.

But it is. I’m pregnant.

I realize it the morning my mother is visited by a newlywed twenty-three year-old woman and I overhear their conversation. There aren’t any pregnancy tests available in District 12 but the signs my mother ask about are all present, both for the newlywed woman and for me. Missing period? Check. Upset stomach? Check. Breasts feeling tender? Check.

Having had sexual intercourse recently? Check.

In a fit of panic I race up the stairs and lock myself in my bedroom before I throw myself down on the bed. For about ten minutes I stare blankly at the wallpaper, unable to form a coherent thought. I’m pregnant. How could this have happened? How could I have _let_ this happen? How could we both have been so stupid?

It only happened once, on the way back from the Capitol after the Victory Tour. Peeta didn’t come to my bedroom the night when we got engaged and I let him have his space but when he stayed away the following night as well I went to check on him and make sure he was okay. We ended up having a long talk about everything that was expected of us and how we felt about it. Peeta was no happier about our upcoming marriage than I was, albeit for entirely different reasons.

The more we talked about it the more we decided that all we could do was make the best of it. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. We get along great and maybe we could have a good life together under the circumstances. I don’t think either one of us was actually convinced but somehow it felt better to say it. Then Peeta brought up the physical aspect of marriage and was surprisingly candid. He told me he would be a perfect gentleman and live in chastity with me if that was what I wanted but that it would be very difficult for him to share a life and a bed with me and never get to know me physically. The more we talked the more I realized that a lifetime of chastity didn’t sound too exciting to me either. I’ve heard it said enough times that sex is the best physical experience of your life and missing out on that seems rather unfortunate. At least under these circumstances, where the choice of whether or not I should get married has been taken out of my hands.

After we had gone to bed we held each other closely for comfort and somehow ended up kissing. Feeling curious after what we had talked about I allowed my hands to begin to explore and before I knew how it had happened we ended up having sex. It was awkward, fumbling, over in just a few minutes and not at all as pleasurable as everyone said. It wasn’t painful but it just felt strange and I couldn’t imagine why women claim to like it, crave it even.

When it was over we both felt awkward and ended up falling asleep without being wrapped closely together the way we’ve slept before. In the morning we both agreed that for now it was better not to engage in that particular activity and that we could rethink whether or not we wanted to have a sexlife together once we were married.

That was almost eight weeks ago. The possibility that I might get pregnant had never entered my mind. I know how babies are made but one messy night on a train didn’t seem like it would put me at big risk for conceiving. I’m a teenager whose body has been through more than enough in the past few years that I hadn’t expected it to be able to carry a child right now. Yet here I am.

I lie there on my bed for hours, trying to figure out what the hell I’m going to do. There are ways to get rid of an unwanted baby, I know that much. It’s illegal but my mother has a few herbs that can do the trick. It’s definitely an option since the only thing I know for sure is I can’t have this baby. I never wanted to have children. The thought was terrifying enough a year ago but now that I’m a Hunger Games victor it’s ten times worse. The father being another victor makes it an additional ten times worse. I have not the faintest doubt in my mind that if this child is born he or she will be a tribute in thirteen or fourteen years. There is no way Snow and the game makers could resist. The son or daughter of the star-crossed lovers of District 12 competing in the arena. They would have an orgasm just from the thought of it.

Yet the thought of an abortion scares me and doesn’t seem to make much sense. The herbs aren’t completely safe and there’s no telling how I will feel after I’ve taken them. Furthermore, what I fear is bearing a child who will die a premature and violent death. How will I make things better by terminating the pregnancy? Wouldn’t that just be doing Snow’s bidding for him by jumping to the chase and taking away the child’s life twelve years before the Capitol gets the chance to? In the end, fear and oppression are his main goals and he wants parents to live in fear until their children are eighteen. A pre-emptive move like abortion would not be exactly the same but when the motivation is fear of the Hunger Games it would serve the same purpose in the end.

And the baby is Peeta’s. I am anything but sure of how I feel about him but I do know that he matters to me at some level and that this child is a part of him. Can I really abort his baby? How would I ever be able to look him in the eye if I did that? Saving his life became so important to me in the arena so terminating the extension of his life seems in direct conflict.

But I can’t give birth to this child. There is no possible way. The child would be as good as dead the moment it left my womb. And I am not ready to be a mother, even if the child’s eternal safety from the Games could be guaranteed. I’m a teenager whose life is a mess, who doesn’t know what she feels or for whom she feels it, who is way in over her head in everything she does and who wakes up screaming in the middle of the night from nightmares about people she’s seen die and people whose deaths she’s caused. How the hell would I be able to care for a child?

I know that it is expected of me to bear children. President Snow expects it as a means to control Peeta and me. The people of Panem expect it because why wouldn’t the star-crossed lovers of District 12 start a family now that they’ve beaten the odds and been given a chance at a life together? With all that in mind I was still determined to do my best never to become pregnant. I haven’t figured out how to manage that yet without bringing about the deadly wrath of Snow but I definitely thought I would have more time to think about it.

The obvious answer would of course be to remain a virgin for life. Barring that I guess I thought I could ask my mother if she knew of any contraceptive herbs I could take. How I would handle Snow would be a secondary problem that I would have a few years, and Peeta’s help, to figure out. Somehow I was going to win this particular battle with the president because out of all the sacrifices and the horrors I have lived through and will be living through the one that would break me completely is being the mother of a child that goes into the arena. The mere thought of standing up there on the stage outside the Justice Building when the name of Peeta’s and my child is drawn and then having to mentor that child makes me panicked.

But here I am now, pregnant completely by accident and with absolutely no idea what to do. Should I tell Peeta? I sure as hell can’t turn to my mother. She would panic and she would freak out over me no longer being a virgin and God knows what else she would do. Perhaps I could tell Haymitch but I don’t think he would have any help to offer. He’s seen other victors mentoring their children in the arena. He knows there’s no way around it once you’re a victor with offspring. The most he could do for me would be to offer his condolences and his support.

I’m on my own with this one, I realize. I need to formulate a plan and do it really fast while there’s still time. Either I terminate the pregnancy, which I can’t see myself doing, or I find some way of saving my unborn child from President Snow and the arena. Luckily it seems that my mother and Prim both think I’ve gone out for the day because nobody comes to summon me to the dinner table. The solitude gives me some time to think.

By the time it’s getting dark I know I have to go downstairs or they will start to worry. I’ve spent a few hours by now going over every possible solution I can think of and a plan has begun to take form in my mind. It’s not an easy one to pull off and an even less easy one to live with but I have to give it a try. For the sake of the baby I have no other choice.

 

 

I write a letter to President Snow saying that I need to meet with him and that it’s urgent. Once I’ve sent the letter I expect a summon to the Capitol within a day or two. Instead I come home from the Hob four days later to find President Snow sitting in the study of my house. Mother and Prim are hiding out in the living room looking terrified but instead of offering them any comfort I walk into the study and close the door behind me, wanting to have this over and done with as soon as possible.

“Miss Everdeen,” says Snow, barely looking up from the papers he is reading. “To what do I owe the pleasure of you desiring a visit from me? It must be important since I was not under the impression that our relationship had progressed to one of being pen pals.”

I see no point in tiptoeing around it. Everything depends on how this conversation goes and being frank, direct and assertive is the best strategy I can think of with this man.

“I’m pregnant.”

For a brief second I can take pleasure in having caught him completely off guard. President Snow looks up at me and I know I have his full attention now. Slowly he sets the papers down on the table, rises and smirks.

“I’m impressed,” he says. “I asked you to prove to me that your feelings for the boy were genuine and you certainly went all in.”

“It’s Gale’s.”

I think to myself that I must have set some new record, taking him so completely by surprise twice in less than two minutes. I wait breathlessly to hear what he will say to this, praying that he will believe the lie. All my hope is tied up in the idea that President Snow will see Gale as the father being the worst situation possible for me and overlook all the dangers that hang over the baby with Peeta as the father. He has to think I would rather have him think Peeta was the father than the other way around. If he does he won’t question my lie.

“That is very unfortunate, Miss Everdeen,” says Snow finally. “Does your fiancé know about your... indiscretion with your cousin?”

“No. And I don’t mean for him to ever find out.”

“I see,” says Snow, smacking his tongue. “You have been quite the busy bee, then, I take it. Tell me, how is it you know that the child is _not_ Peeta’s?”

I swallow hard, praying that my nervousness will come across as shame.

“Because... we said we’d wait for marriage.”

“Ah,” nods Snow, walking slowly around his desk. “It is highly unfortunate then that you ended up in the family way at the dress rehearsal.”

“I don’t think I need to tell you how difficult it is for me to stand here and tell you this,” I say, my voice trembling.

“No. You don’t. Since you asked for an audience I take it there’s something you want. Need help arranging an abortion?”

“No...” I take a deep breath. Now or never. “I have a proposition. I have thought long and hard about this and it is the only solution I can think of that will allow us to... to continue on as planned, as if none of this ever happened.”

“I’m intrigued.” I can’t for the life of me tell if he is serious or not. “Though I have to warn you, I am not very inclined to listen to you at the moment. You have been a very disobedient young lady and I thought you knew better.”

“I know what’s at stake.”

“Yet you’re standing here pregnant by a boy other than the one you’re supposed to be in love with,” says Snow. “It may be that I am out of touch with the ways of the outer districts but in the Capitol we don’t mix true love with sordid affairs with... relatives.”

“It was a mistake,” I say. “I know. It was... one moment of weakness. A last goodbye.” I know I’m blushing when I continue with what is actually true. “It didn’t even cross my mind that I might end up getting pregnant.”

“And so your last goodbye left you with someone to remember him by. They don’t teach biology very well in District 12, do they?”

“I want to make my transgression... disappear. For that I need your help.”

“You want it to disappear without having an abortion?”

“I am very well aware of the seriousness of the situation and I fully intend on marrying Peeta,” I tell him. I  make no effort to try and convince him that I _love_ Peeta. He didn’t believe I did when we got engaged so there’s no way he’ll believe it under current circumstances. All he needs to know is that I don’t plan to rock the boat.

“So you need my help with what, Miss Everdeen?” asks the president. “Convincing him that you got pregnant through immaculate conception?”

“I... would be willing to give the child up for adoption,” I say, barely able to get the words out of my mouth. “Peeta would never have to know. No one would have to know.” I swallow hard. “But I need your help to pull it off.”

“Yes,” nods Snow. “You do. On your own you could hardly disguise a progressing pregnancy nor find someone to adopt your bastard in secret.” He sits down on the desk and crosses his arms over his chest. “It’s not a bad idea. I know it pains you to make the suggestion. I could arrange for you to come to the Capitol, stay hidden away from the public eye and as soon as the child is delivered some lucky couple gets to raise it. You would of course have to give up any parental rights for all of the child’s life. Including visitations and updates on the child’s development.”

“Yeah,” I say hoarsely. I wasn’t expecting anything else.

“And the father would need to do the same.”

I feel all colour leave my face. The father? I wasn’t intending on telling anyone back home about this, not even Gale.

“Will that be necessary?” I say, my voice barely holding up. “He doesn’t know and I would prefer to keep it that way.”

“You think he might object to having his child given away to decadent citizens of the Capitol?” asks Snow casually. “You will need his signed consent or no adoption will be legally binding.”

“Done.”

I haven’t got the faintest idea how I will bring this up to Gale or convince him to help me out but that’s a problem I can solve tomorrow. Right now I need to make this deal happen and if I hesitate Snow might change his mind. We’re both very well aware of who’s holding all the power here and he can probably sense my desperation. He knows he can get me to agree to just about anything so I should be thankful if all he’s asking for is Gale’s signature on a piece of paper.

Snow steps closer to me and the smell of blood and roses gets thicker and makes my stomach turn. I hear sensitivity to smell is another symptom of pregnancy.

“Are you _certain_ you are with child?” Snow asks.

“All the telltale signs are there.”

He studies me closely for a moment and reaches out his hand, placing it on my stomach and feeling around. It makes me want to crawl out of my skin and I can only assume he’s doing it to make me feel violated as there is no possible way to _feel_ a pregnancy this way after only a few weeks. I almost exhale loudly in relief when his hand goes away.

“I don’t trust your District 12 methods,” he says plainly, walking back to the desk. “I shall require a proper pregnancy test conducted by the Capitol’s doctors. I’ll have a standard test sent to you which you will take and send right back to the Capitol.”

“I can’t do that,” I argue. “No one can know about this. Including Prim and my mother.”

“Then I suggest you lock the bathroom door while you’re taking the test. If the test proves to be positive then you can contact me when you begin showing and I will have an additional confirmation test done and you will get a nice train ride to our favourite city and spend the next six months under my thumb. Sound good to you?”

Nothing about this sounds good to me. But I’m not in a position to negotiate.

“It’s a deal,” I answer, my voice barely holding up.

“Good, then,” nods Snow. “When you get back here after the child has been born you will proceed with your plans to marry Peeta and let’s make sure that the next child you bear will be his and not any other random fellow’s, mmm?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then.” He walks past me to the door. “I’ll have the test sent to you once I return to the Capitol and you will let me know when you need to be hidden away to conceal your shame.” His hand reaches the doorknob. I haven’t turned around so when he speaks again he speaks to my back. “Oh, and Miss Everdeen? Never let anything like this happen again.”

Then he’s gone and I take a few steps forward and grab a hold of the desk, desperately trying to keep myself on my feet. It’s over. It’s done. Snow agreed and I can keep the baby safe. All I have to do is make the biggest sacrifice of my life. The only comfort I have is knowing that it’s less awful than having to watch my child die in the arena. I don’t know yet how I will prevent further pregnancies but I can deal with that later. Right now this child is safe and nothing else matters.

After a few minutes I take a deep breath, release my grip on the desk and straighten my back. Now I have to go out there and talk to Mother and Prim and give them an excuse for President Snow’s visit. The smell of roses and blood still fills my nose. I wonder how long it will be before it goes away.

 

 

I should probably be celebrating that night. My meeting with Snow went as well as I could have hoped for and I feel confident that I have secured my baby’s safety and future. Yet celebrating is the last thing I feel like doing. Instead I head straight to bed, ignoring the food Mother sends up even though I know I will be feeling very sick to my stomach if I don’t eat something, and finally allow myself to cry. The sobs rip through me but do nothing to ease my pain. My baby will live but I will never get to know him or her. I’ll never even get to hold the child.

Not only that, but neither will Peeta. Thinking about him breaks my heart into a million pieces. He’s good with children – I’ve seen it. He likes children. He will never know he’s a father and for the rest of our lives, which will be spent together, I will have to lie by omission. It’s not fair to him. He deserves to know but I have to put the baby’s well-being above Peeta’s fatherly rights. My hand caresses my stomach, which doesn’t show any signs yet of harbouring a foetus, and in my mind I beg the baby’s father for forgiveness, over and over. I like to think that Peeta would understand, maybe even approve. Though I’m guessing that’s very naive of me.

Eventually an overwhelming tiredness overcomes me and my eyes begin to drift shut. My last thoughts before I drift to sleep is that while this will be the most difficult thing I ever do, more difficult than the Games even, I will see it done. I refuse to be like my own mother and put my feelings first. The sacrifice I make on both my own and Peeta’s account will save our baby’s life. That is the thought that helps me go to sleep that night and that will help me go to sleep every night from now on.

 

 

A few days later the pregnancy test arrives, delivered in an envelope by a peacekeeper who waits outside the door while I do my part. Grateful that my mother and sister are off tending to a twelve year-old with pneumonia I hurry to the downstairs bathroom and take the test. I put it in its little container and then back in the envelope but not before glancing at it. It confirms the pregnancy. When I hand the envelope to the peacekeeper I wonder if Snow knew my family was out. The peacekeeper hurries off before anyone can return home.

The following Sunday I head out to the woods to speak to Gale. He has to be told, the sooner the better. I dread this conversation almost as much as I dreaded talking to Snow but I know there’s no way around it so I’d rather just have it over and done with.

Gale is knelt down on the ground, working on a snare, when I reach him. He looks up at me, smiles and begins to brush the dirt off his pants.

"Hey there, Catnip. Wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“Gale I have a favour to ask,” I say bluntly.

“Okay,” says Gale, rising to his feet. “Whatever it is I’m on board.”

“You don’t know what it is.”

“As I said, whatever it is.”

I shake my head.

“I really hope so but...”

His face turns from a warm smile to a worried frown.

“Katniss, what’s wrong?”

“I’m pregnant, Gale.” The shock hits him so hard I worry that he might fall over. For several minutes he just stares at me with shock and horror. “Nobody knows. Except...”

“Oh God,” breathes Gale. “ _Pregnant_ , Catnip? Is this a _joke_?”

“No.”

“You’re _pregnant_?” He shakes his head and makes a disgusted snort. “You know, I actually believed you when you said you were never getting married or having children. I guess you were just waiting for the right guy and the right nationally televised event.”

“It’s not like that,” I say. “The engagement is just for show, you know that.”

“Yeah but you’re having his baby so clearly you’re really getting into character.” He snorts again and sits down on a large rock. “How thrilled is the expecting father?”

“He doesn’t know, Gale, and you can’t say anything to him.”

“You’re not keeping it?” asks Gale.

“You’re the only one I’ve told. You, and President Snow.”

Gale eyes me in silence for a moment.

“Snow? Why on earth would you share something like this with that lunatic?”

“Because I had to.” Nervously I begin twisting my hands. “Here’s where the favour comes in... See, I told him that the baby is yours.”

The expression on Gale’s face is almost comical, his eyes bulging out of his head and his colour ghastly pale. He flies to his feet in panic.

“Oh my God, Katniss, you told him _what_?” He begins to pace back and forth. “Do you realize what you have done? Do you? You’ve signed my death warrant! President Snow is going to have me _killed_ for this!”

When he says it I realize that he’s partially right. It could very well have ended with Snow having Gale killed if I hadn’t been able to convince him to go along with the adoption idea. In fact, he still might send out an order to have Gale murdered. Oddly enough I don’t regret naming Gale as the father. Even though the baby is barely two months old inside of me I feel protective of it and on a deep instinctive level I realize that I care about the child more than I care about Gale. I’m also vaguely aware that if the roles had been reversed and I had gone to Peeta telling him I’m pregnant and I claimed he was the father of Gale’s child, Peeta would have accepted it.

“You’re not in any danger,” I tell Gale, hoping that it’s true, and I’m glad to see him stop pacing. “I made a deal with President Snow.”

“Oh. You made a deal.” His tone is anything but kind. “Well that’s good news, isn’t it? Your previous deals have worked out so well.”

“Gale this isn’t easy!”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a sigh, his breath clearly visible in the cold air. “God, this is just... a little bit much to take. You and Peeta are having a baby yet you’re pinning it on _me_ , thereby making me the villain in the great love story of the star-crossed--”

“You’re not going to be a villain,” I cut him off. “Nobody knows I’m pregnant and nobody is going to know.” I tremble a little as I continue. “I’m going to travel to the Capitol when I start showing and I’m going to have the baby there. I’m giving it up for adoption.”

The angry, frustrated look on his face melts away and he looks at me with sadness and compassion that almost brings tears to my eyes.

“Oh Catnip...”

“It’s the only way, Gale,” I say, terrified that he might try to talk me out of it. It takes everything I’ve got not to begin to cry as I try to explain it to him. “I can’t terminate. I just don’t have it in me to do that. I will carry this baby to term, but...” I pause and take a deep, trembling breath. “This child would be doomed from the moment of its birth. Not only the child of two victors but the child of two victors who survived _the same arena_. The star-crossed lovers of District 12. He or she would be reaped for sure and Peeta and I would have to mentor our own boy or girl and watch him or her die a violent death for the sake of _entertainment_. You know the Capitol couldn’t resist. The very best we could hope for is that they don’t rig the reaping until the kid is eighteen, in which case he or she might have a chance at survival but even if you live through the arena your life is no longer your own. I don’t want my baby to live with the nightmares that plague Peeta and me. I don’t want this baby to live a lifetime after the arena with the emotional scars and with the Capitol dictating what he or she does. The only chance this baby has is to be given away to Capitol parents. Then they couldn’t draft him or her for the Games. He or she would be safe.”

“Katniss...” says Gale softly. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Yes I do.” By now tears have begun to fall down my cheeks, despite my best effort. “Why shouldn’t I? It’s the best anyone in District 12 could hope for their children. Raised in a Capitol home this baby would never know what starvation is or fear the reaping. Everything I’ve always wished I could give Prim I can give my child.”

“Except yourself,” points out Gale. “Life in the Capitol may mean no hunger and no want for anything material but nothing in the world could replace _you_.”

“There’s got to be a lot of loving parents in the Capitol,” I argue. “Just because they’re completely detached from the hardships in life that doesn’t mean they’re not capable of love. Whoever adopts my child will be a couple who desperately want a baby but can’t have one of their own. Think of how they would treasure my child.”

“Yeah, or they want a trophy baby,” says Gale. “The baby of Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. The perfect thing to show off to your friends and family.”

“The adoptive parents won’t know who the biological parents are,” I say. “That information needs to be contained. And if they do find out, the listed father will be you... Please Gale, I need your help. Desperately.”

“Yeah, sure,” he sighs. “What do you need? What can I do?”

“Sign away parental rights.”

“Sign away the parental rights... To a child that’s not even my own.”

"I can’t involve Peeta in this,” I say. “He can never know. If he knows then Snow will know and this whole thing falls apart. The reason I lied and said you were the father is because it will make Snow agree to the adoption. If he knew who truly fathered this baby he will insist that we raise it.”

“You _want_ to raise it,” argues Gale.

“Look at me, I’m a mess!" I cry. "I can’t be somebody’s _mother_. Even if I could, I told you why I can’t officially be linked to this child. Regardless of how I feel about motherhood the safety of the baby comes first. It has to be given away and you have to sign the papers for that to happen. Please, Gale. Please. You’re not actually losing anything by doing it.”

“No, only helping the girl I love give up her child.”

“You’d be helping me save my child.”

Gale walks up to me and pulls me into a hug. The feeling of his strong arms around me and his broad chest to lean against feels better than anything else has these past few weeks. He holds me silently while I sob for my child and the sacrifice I will have to make. When I begin to calm down he gently shushes me and places a kiss on the top of my head.

“Alright, Catnip,” he says. “Okay. I will pretend I’m the father and I will sign away the rights. Just as long as you’re _sure_.”

“I am,” I say, determination in my voice. “I will not let this baby be another victim of the Hunger Games.”

Gale holds me close and rocks me gently. I don’t know for how long we stand like that but I’m grateful for every minute of it. Gale is a rock and he is with me in this. I no longer carry this secret alone with the man responsible for many of the greatest horrors of my life. Gale is my accomplice now and everything will be as fine as they could be under the circumstances.

 

 

I have to hand it to Snow. The man knows how to create a believable lie. When I’m fifteen weeks in I begin to be able to see a small bump and I know that it is time to contact Snow. I have, per his orders, not tried to hide that I’m feeling tired and nauseous and the day after I contact him a peacekeeper arrives at my door to bring me in for a blood test. My mother immediately questions this but is given no explanation. I follow the peacekeeper outside and notice that Peeta and Haymitch are being brought in as well. Once we reach the Justice Building we are taken to a small room where three doctors in protective gear wait. We’re told that the Capitol suspects we may have been subjected to a contagion during the Victory Tour and that we must be tested. If anyone of us should be found to be infected that person will be taken to the Capitol for isolation and treatment.

Peeta takes my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze, noticing the distress on my face. Even though this is all for the best, a carefully woven scheme to ensure the survival of my – our – unborn child, I’m still nothing more than a frightened sixteen year-old about to be taken from her family and home to deliver a baby for somebody else in the Capitol. Having Peeta there to offer me comfort helps immensely. I have come to rely on him when I’m frightened and he never disappoints.

After the blood test we’re kept waiting for two hours and Haymitch and Peeta use the time to try and figure out what contagion it might be. I don’t say a word and after a while Peeta apologises for scaring me.

Finally the door opens and one of the doctors returns.

“Miss Everdeen? Come with us, please.”

Peeta shoots me an almost panicked look and grabs my hand again, squeezing it tight.

"What’s wrong?” he asks the doctor. “Does she have it?”

“You need to come with us, Miss Everdeen,” says the doctor. “And try not to be in close contact with anyone else.”

I rise to my feet, still not saying a word. Peeta ignores the doctor’s commands and pulls me in for a tight hug. Part of me wishes I could stay in his comforting embrace for the next six months but another part of me is overwhelmed with guilt. He’s so concerned for me and I’m hiding something monumental from him. Haymitch is right. I could never deserve him.

“You’ll be okay,” whispers Peeta. “They won’t let anything bad happen to you. You’re Panem’s darling. You and I are going to get married and you know how Snow would hate having to miss out on those ratings. You’re going to be fine.”

“I’ll see you when I get back,” I manage to mumble.

He breaks away and his blue eyes look deep into mine. Then he gives me a kiss and wishes me luck. I swallow hard and look down on the floor. The doctor grabs me by the arm and ushers me out of the room before I can say anything to Haymitch.

I’m lead into another small room down the end of the hall and one of the doctors there offers me a glass of water and a seat.

“We need information on anyone you’ve been in close contact with since the Victory Tour,” says one of the doctors. “Your mother and your sister are already being brought in for testing. Is there anybody else we should know about?”

Poor Prim. I feel horrible doing this to her. And my mother. They must be so worried about me. But it’s just one more sacrifice I need to make for the sake of this child.

“Miss Everdeen?” says another doctor. “Is there anyone else?”

“Gale,” I say, my voice barely holding. “My cousin. And... and Madge Undersee, the mayor’s daughter.”

“We’ll have them brought in as well. Finish your water, we leave in ten minutes.”

“What?”

“The train is being made ready. We want you in the Capitol as soon as possible.”

All I can do is nod and accept it. The next ten minutes go by very slowly and I wish I could just get on that damn train and be out of here already. When they finally bring me out of the Justice Building and to the waiting car I see Peeta standing there, as close as they will allow him. He mouths to me that everything will be alright. I fight hard not to cry.

I’m put inside the car and driven to the train station. The doctors herd me onboard and show me to my compartment where I’m left to my own devices. The room is much smaller and far less luxurious than what I’ve had before as a tribute and a victor but none of it matters. I sit down on the small bed and lean back against the wall, resting my hand on the barely-there bump on my stomach. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I have a difficult six months ahead of me. All I can do now is endure and long for the day when I’m travelling back to District 12.

 

 

When we arrive in the Capitol I am immediately taken to Snow’s palace where I am to be kept under strict surveillance in what appears to be the president’s very own medical ward. The doctor who welcomes me seems friendly enough and chats with me about the ward and all its perks and advances but I have nothing to say so I stay silent. Once the medical team that brought me here from District 12 have left the doctor drops the pretence of me being here due to a contagion and informs me that I will be having an ultrasound in fifteen minutes and that I am to be weighed, measured, poked and prodded in every way so they can know how healthy, or not healthy, I am. I am also informed of a strict diet regime I will be put on and what exercises I am to perform every day. It seems they have planned out every single day of the rest of the pregnancy but even though it’s a violation of my privacy I don’t really care. The more seriously they take the pregnancy the more likely it is that Snow will go through with his end of the bargain and provide the baby with a good home.

My room is small but welcoming compared to the hospital room I’ve previously had here in the Capitol. There is a large, soft bed with a green bedspread that matches the colour of the rug on the floor and with a satin clad stool on the foot of the bed. Next to the bed there is a small bedside table on one side and a dresser on the other. A small table stands a few feet from the dresser and it has two small chairs. There are no other pieces of furniture but the walls have paintings of flowers and animals on them and there are two large windows facing a small garden that is enclosed on all four sides by the building. It looks more like a terrace than anything else. I assume this is where I will be getting my fresh air, as there is no way any of us would risk me going anywhere where people can see me.

I sit down on the bed and notice that there is a small telephone on the bedside table. Just in case I didn’t know I was being watched the phone rings only seconds after I noticed it. I pick it up and hear the familiar voice of President Snow.

“I hope you have settled in, Miss Everdeen,” says Snow.

“I’m surprised you gave me a phone,” I reply. “I assume it’s so you can stay in close touch with me, in case you need anything?”

“That,” agrees Snow, “and so that you can call your family. Oh don’t be so surprised, Miss Everdeen. Your mother and sister will be expecting to hear from you. We trust you not to say anything you shouldn’t since this whole arrangement was your idea in the first place.”

“And just in case I’d change my mind you have the phone tapped,” I conclude.

“Naturally. Now give your mother and sister a call and let them know you’ve arrived safely and then you really must get going to your ultrasound.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t call my family,” I say. “I’m a very bad liar.”

“Nonsense,” answers Snow. “You managed to fool the whole country that you want to marry Peeta. Well, _nearly_ the whole country.”

He hangs up and I slowly put the phone down, needing a moment to think of what to tell my mother when I call her. Then I draw a deep breath and dial the number. It’s Prim who answers, after only two rings. I wonder how worried they are about me.

“Hey, little duck,” I say, fighting to keep my voice calm.

“Katniss!” Prim says. “Katniss are you alright? What’s happening to you?”

“They think I might have caught something,” I say. “You are okay though, right? They took you in and tested you?”

“Yeah, they drew blood from us,” says Prim. “They wouldn’t tell us anything, though.”

“They didn’t tell me anything either.”

“Are you scared?” Prim all but whispers.

“No,” I lie. “The first time I was here it was to compete in the Hunger Games. This can hardly be worse than that.”

“Mom wants to talk to you,” says Prim.

“Okay.”

“Get home real soon, okay?”

“I will.”

She hands the phone over to my mother and I speak briefly with her. She wants to know what they have told me, what my symptoms are, how long they think I will have to stay here. I answer only briefly and tell her that I don’t know much but I feel okay. The conversation ends and I hang up the phone, wishing I could call Gale. In the end I’m scared to because I might say more than I should when I talk to him.

Soon there is a knock on the door and I am summoned to my examination. I am told to remove all my clothes and put on an unflattering gown that opens over the stomach, then I lie down in a chair with stirrups while the doctor puts on gloves and begins a very uncomfortable examination that has me wincing for the most part. Yet the experience of being examined in my most private parts is still not as bad as when she brings out the sonogram to take a look at the baby. I close my eyes hard and ask her not to tell me what she sees on the monitor. I don’t want to see the baby, not even at this stage, and I don’t want to know anything other than that the child is healthy. The more detached I am the less heart wrenching it will be when the pregnancy is over and the baby and I part ways.

 

 

The first two days go by very slowly. I quickly realize that other than eating what they tell me to eat and exercising when they tell me to exercise there is not much to do here. I am not allowed to wander the surroundings at will, there are no books for me to read and there’s not even a deck of cards for me to amuse myself with. I ask for a pencil and some paper and spend my time writing down everything my father taught me about herbs and the animals of the forest. It keeps me occupied but it’s not going to do the trick for a full six months. I have a feeling that I’m going to go insane here. I’m not used to being idle and not having anybody to talk to and I feel very lonely in the Capitol without Haymitch, Peeta, Cinna and Effie.

On the third day I hear a small commotion outside my door and I get up from the bed where I’m resting and I walk out into the hallway. They are bringing somebody else in and it takes me a moment to figure out who they would be bringing. Then I see Gale and I’m filled with so much relief that for a moment I don’t even care that he’s been dragged from his home to be imprisoned here with me for half a year with nothing to do all day long. Our eyes meet and he looks on edge and confused by the new surroundings but he also looks reassuring. We don’t get a chance to speak as they lead him into another room so I hurry up to my doctor who is overlooking the arrival.

“Can I see him?” I ask directly. “I need to speak with him.”

“Seems to me you’ve seen more of him than what is good for you,” replies the doctor dryly. “But yes, you may see him once he’s settled in.”

Breathing a sigh of relief I ask when that will be but get no answer. The doctor leaves, as do the men who brought Gale here, and I’m left standing alone outside his door. I immediately go for the doorknob but it’s locked. With a groan I begin to pace back and forth outside the door until finally after twenty minutes I hear a click. I try the door again and this time it opens.

Gale’s room looks like mine only smaller and without any windows. He’s studying one of the paintings on the wall when I enter but immediately loses interest in artwork when he sees me standing there.

“Catnip,” he says as the door closes behind me.

“Gale!” I walk into his outstretched arms, seeking comfort in his embrace. “I’m so sorry you had to be brought her like this. I didn’t think for a minute that Snow would have you taken to the Capitol, too. But I’m very, very glad to see you.”

“It surprised me, too,” says Gale. “I guess they wanted me to sign the documents here. Hey, at least I get to see the Capitol other than on TV. How are you feeling?”

“Horribly,” I answer, pulling back from the hug. “The nausea is getting a little better but I’m tired almost all the time and... the further I get with this the more frightened I become.”

“You, frightened?” smiles Gale, gently brushing my cheek with his fingers. “The girl on fire? I don’t believe it for a second.”

“If Snow asks I’m not the least bit scared,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

“The people in these rooms... do they know?”

I nod.

“They are Snow’s hand-picked crew. Here to watch over me and make sure I eat everything I should and don’t eat anything I shouldn’t and that the pregnancy progresses safely. They are also the people who will deliver me and take the baby away.”

“I admit, I still don’t understand,” says Gale, taking a seat on the satin-dressed stool. “What does Snow care about the progression of the pregnancy? Would it really matter to him if you lost the baby or it was born... disfigured?”

I don’t answer his question because I’m not sure how free we are to talk. Somehow I need to communicate to Gale that we might be watched at all times. For now I just sit down beside him, shivering a little even though it’s warm inside and I’m wearing a large, comfortable sweater. Gale doesn’t understand Capitol politics as well as I do, nor does he even come close to comprehending President Snow. Snow wants the baby to be born healthy because it will always be a source of control over me. He can make me jump through whatever hoops he wants under the threat of punishing the child if I don’t. It’s that simple.

A thought occurs to me and I look up at Gale.

“Your family... How will they sustain themselves if you’re kept here for six whole months?” A brand new wave of guilt washes over me and I stand back up again. “God, Gale, I have to speak to President Snow. Somehow I have to get him to--”

“You don’t need to do anything,” says Gale, though he doesn’t sound happy about it. “When I talked to my mother she said your fiancé had been by and offered part of his monthly supplies until I get back. That, along with the supplies we’ll get up until someone new wins the Games in a few months, will keep them fed.”

I sit back down with a sigh.

“Hazelle is not going to accept charity from Peeta.”

“No,” agrees Gale. “He’s no dummy, he knows that. He gave this whole big spiel, apparently, about how guilty he feels and how it’s all yours and his fault that our family’s main provider is gone for a while, and how he won’t be able to sleep knowing that he has caused such great harm on innocent people. Basically he made it sound like they would be doing _him_ a favour by accepting the supplies.” He shakes his head a little. “I’ve got to hand it to him. He knows how to spin things.”

“Yeah, he’s amazing sometimes,” I say with a little smile.

Gale glances at me and it’s clear that he didn’t mean it quite like that but I’m so relieved that Peeta found a way to step up and keep Gale’s family fed while we’re away. He has no earthly reason to but I know he’s doing it out of love for me and that _is_ amazing.

“So...” says Gale after a moment. “What now?”

“Now... we wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“Wait for the baby to be born so we can go home.”

 

 

Gale’s presence truly is a blessing and over the next months he is often the only thing that keeps me sane. I’m prohibited from leaving the rooms Snow has designated for me since no one can see me in my gravid state, soon I’m not even allowed to go out on the terrace, and it is by far the longest I have spent indoors in my entire life. I eat what I’m told to eat and when I’m told to eat it, I follow the regime of moderate physical exercise the doctor has set up for me and once a month I lie down on a table and let the doctor examine me. Soon after my arrival in the Capitol the baby starts to move in ways that I can feel. Each time I feel it a sense of anxiety runs through me and I think of the baby’s father. Peeta would love this child to pieces and he would probably make an amazing father even at his young age but he will never know the child and, which saddens me more than anything, the child will never know him. How I wish babies remained completely still in the womb. Then I wouldn’t have to face the fact that it is a living being that is growing inside of me, _because_ of me, which will be taken away as soon as it no longer needs my body to sustain itself.

After two months in the Capitol the phone on my nightstand rings and I answer it, expecting it to be either Gale calling from his room or one of the nurses calling to bring me to dinner.

“Katniss?” a very familiar voice says on the other end. “It’s Peeta.” I’m so stunned I nearly drop the phone. ”Hello? Katniss are you there?”

“Peeta!” I exclaim.

“Hi. They gave me your number, after some excessive nagging on my part...” The sound of his voice makes me sit down on the edge of the bed, covering my mouth with my hand to keep any inappropriate, hormone-induced sounds from escaping. “How are you? I’ve been worried sick about you back here. So have your mom and Prim. They told me you called when you first arrived but that they haven’t heard from you since.”

“I’m okay,” I say. “I’m okay.”

“Yeah?” He sounds hopeful. “So you’ll be coming home soon?”

“Well... Not _that_ okay. They say I need to stay in isolation for at least another two months.” I don’t know why I just specified it as two months when it will be another four before I give birth. “They have it under control, though. Treatments going and everything.”

“So you feel okay?” asks Peeta, sounding worried.

“Yeah,” I say. “Under the circumstances.” Talking to him again is so nice that it makes me blurt out the next thought that passes through my head. “It is really nice to hear from you, Peeta. I feel much better just from hearing your voice.”

From the short laugh I can tell I made him very happy by saying that. Probably a mistake since I don’t want him to get the wrong impression. On the other hand it is true.

“Sorry to bring this up but did you hear about the Quarter Quell?” he then says.

Truthfully I had forgotten all about the Quarter Quell with everything else going on. I realize that it’s April and only a little over a month until the next reaping. I’m supposed to be there on stage with Peeta and Haymitch as mentor to the new tributes but at least this one year I will be spared.

“No,” I tell him. “What was the rule change?”

“No weapons in the arena other than what sponsors send in.”

“What? That’s preposterous.”

“It’s meant to symbolise that we depend on the Capitol for everything. Including the means of which to die, apparently.”

“But Peeta... How are they going to get any action if the tributes don’t have anything to kill one another with?”

“They’ll still have their bare hands,” points out Peeta. “There’s another stipulation as well. At least one tribute has to die every day or the game makers will draw a name, presumably from a hat or something else ridiculous, and kill that person at midnight. To give a little extra incentive to use those bare hands. Nobody can feel safe, taken to the extreme.”

“And may the odds be ever in your favour,” I sigh.

“Yeah. It’s a pretty sad day when you find yourself feeling just a little bit glad that you got reaped last year so you’re safe from the arena this year.” He chuckles joylessly. “Though who knows, maybe Snow will send me in this year too for having said that.”

“I won’t be able to mentor this year.”

Brief silence.

“Yeah, I figured.”

“I’m sorry you have to do it on your own. With Haymitch.”

“Hey, when I come to the Capitol do you think...”

“If you’re asking whether you can come and see me the answer is ‘no’.” I look down at my protruding belly. “They won’t let you in to see me. Too great a risk that you might spread the infection.”

“I hope I do catch it. Then I’d be staying with you instead of at the Game Headquarters.”

“Trust me,” I say. “You don’t want to be in my position.” I wince as I think of everything that’s going on in my body. “It’s unlike anything I’ve experienced before.”

“Maybe you’ll be feeling better by the time I get to the Capitol. It’s not until next month.”

“I won’t be able to see you,” I insist. Then I pause for a moment. “So how’s Prim?”

We talk for a little while longer, about my family and his family and Haymitch’s latest drunken stupor. Then he brings the conversation over to something I would rather not think about right now, or ever.

“I met with our wedding planner last week.”

“Our wedding planner?”

“Her name is Lucia and she has an unhealthy obsession with all things candle and open fire. That whole ‘girl on fire’ thing doesn’t seem to be going anywhere anytime soon. She talked about you having candles in your hair or some crazy thing like that. I was forced to point out to her that I would like a living, healthy bride to dance with that night and not the charred remains of a young woman in a hospital bed.”

He keeps on talking but I barely hear the next ten or so sentences that come out of his mouth. In the middle of all this craziness I had somehow forgotten that as soon as I have delivered and been deemed ready to go back home I am expected to marry Peeta.

“It’s weird,” admits Peeta on the other end. “Planning a wedding like this... I don’t know about you but I never pictured myself getting married any other way than a simple signing of documents, friends and family singing the song and then a toasting. Why on earth to people need _doves_ at a wedding? I don’t get it.”

“Peeta can we talk about this some other time?”

“Yes. Of course.” He pauses. “I should probably get off the line anyway.”

“It was nice talking to you. I really mean that.”

He says goodbye to me and I say it back. Then I feel the baby kicking and an overwhelming sadness comes over me. Part of me wishes badly that he were here right now so I could find some comfort in his blue eyes and his strength. I wish I didn’t have to deceive him this way. More than anything I wish I was still a virgin and that our night on the train had never happened.

“Peeta...” I say, wanting desperately to tell him how sorry I am for taking his baby from him. Of course, I can’t do that.

“Yeah?”

I pause for a moment.

“Call me again, sometime.”

He chuckles warmly on the other end.

“I will. Get better, okay? I need you back here. Haymitch is prickly and Lucia is overwhelming and God I fear getting on that train with Effie without you there.”

It surprises me that Effie didn’t get her promotion but I decide not to comment. Instead we wrap up the conversation and hang up the phone. I look down at my belly and caress it carefully.

 “Think your father will ever forgive me?” I whisper. The baby offers no answer.

 

 

Gale and I watch the reaping from a large TV screen in the common room. For some reason the staff seems to think it would devastate me to miss even one minute of the show and I decide not to protest. For now. I have every intention of playing my ‘hormones’ card at a suitable time but the reaping is one part I actually care to see. Both Gale and I have people we care about whose names are in those large glass bowls and we want to know who the tributes will be.

A fifteen year-old girl and thirteen year-old boy are reaped and brought up to the stage where Haymitch is drunk and Peeta looks like he’s at a funeral. Strangely enough I kind of wish I was there with him, if for no other reason than to go through it with him. We’re supposed to look after one another yet he’s forced to handle this without me. Seeing him through the TV screen is strange. It’s nice to get to see his face again but it’s also a reminder of the things that will happen in the next few months.

Over the next few weeks we watch the Games. Gale spends most of his time in front of the TV since there’s not much else to do but I can’t stand seeing children die and I can’t handle reliving the memories that come crawling back. The arena has been designed to aid the tributes in killing one another with one mountain section where you could pick up a rock and bludgeon someone or push them over a cliff, one woodland area where some of the trees have vines to strangle someone with and one area has a large waterfall from which someone could tumble to a dramatic death. Around the cornucopia there isn’t a single weapon laid out and only a few supplies. With a sigh I note to Gale that it’s going to be an unusually boring year, especially for a Quarter Quell. He thinks I’m jaded but the fact that it looks boring is cause for concern to me. It makes me wonder what tricks the game makers have up their sleeves to _make_ it dramatic.

The lack of a bloodbath at the cornucopia does make the games start off less dramatic and I find myself wondering if Plutarch Heavensbee will have a job, or a pulse, once the Games are over. Even Caesar Flickerman sounds rather bored commenting on the event. Nobody dies at the cornucopia – surely a Hunger Games first – and the tributes scatter rather quickly. Of course it doesn’t stay deathless for very long. This year’s Careers manage to corner the three youngest tributes and herd them towards the mountain part of the arena. There they bash in their heads with rocks and I keep my eyes closed for the duration, feeling like I’m going to be sick.

“Not a good year for District 12,” mutters Gale.

I open my eyes and give him a questioning look.

“What do you mean?”

“Careers aren’t the only ones who can kill.”

I turn my head to the TV screen where the boy from Nine has snuck into the woods and ambushed the boy from Twelve. The tribute from our district is grabbed from behind and strangled. A shiver runs down my spine. I would have known that boy if I hadn’t been sitting here with a six month pregnant belly. I would have been his mentor. I would have eaten with him for a week, coached him on his training, advised him, probably comforted him. How is Peeta feeling right now? Without realizing it I protectively caress my stomach, finding some measure of comfort knowing that at least I’ll never have to watch this child die on TV.

The games last for almost three weeks and the girl from our district is the fifteenth person to die, eleven days in. She gets her throat slit by a knife given to the girl from Four by a sponsor. The Games are eventually won by the boy from Two, who nearly becomes a victor for only a few minutes as the final battle takes place by the waterfall and the boy from Seven nearly pulls him down into the waterfall with him. Gale watches almost all of the Games but I mostly just watch the evening broadcasts that sum up the events of the day. There’s no getting around watching that unless you’re really sick or very busy with something super important. When the Games are over and we watch the interviews I breathe a sigh of relief that it’s eleven more months before we have to go through it again.

Peeta calls me once he’s back home and we talk for a while but the conversation is stilted. I can tell he wants to talk to me about his experience as a mentor but we are probably being listened so he can’t talk of all the horrors he needs to get off his chest. For my part I don’t want to talk about my fake disease since I don’t know what to say if asked about any details and I certainly can’t talk to him about his unborn child who is making me look gigantic at the moment and making me feel a million different things I don’t know how to handle.

Peeta brings up the wedding plans and I don’t want to talk about that either but I realize I’ll have to hear about it sooner or later so I might as well get it over with right now. He tries to sound upbeat and excited in case we’re being listened on but he’s too weary and downtrodden to manage. After only a minute or two I claim to be feeling ill and we end the conversation so that I can go to bed and get some rest. I wonder to myself if I will hear Peeta’s voice again before the baby is born.

 

 

The intensity of the pain frightens me. It’s only been an hour since it started and already it’s got me crying out when it peaks. I know from my mother that a first time mother can be in labour for more than twenty hours and I don’t even want to imagine how badly it will hurt at that point. Being in a sterile room full of non-approachable nurses doesn’t help much either. I was determined never to have children but if the situation ever did arise I guess I assumed my mother would be there and help me through it. Well my mother is nowhere to be found and neither is the father of the child.

The real father, anyway. The official father comes walking through the door thirty minutes after I’ve been brought to the room where the child will be born. Gale looks pale and nervous but I can see determination in his eyes. He will be as good a labour coach as anyone, staying strong and steady and reliable. He’s my hunting partner and I trust him completely. I know he can support me through this and I’m eternally thankful that Snow had him brought here.

“How are you doing, there, Catnip?” he asks.

“Where are the pain drugs?” I snap at one of the nurses by way of answering.

“She’s doing fine,” sighs the nurse to Gale. “The doctor will be here once he’s had his breakfast and he’ll administer something to make her not feel the pain.”

“It’s 5:40,” remarks Gale. “When the hell will he be done with breakfast?”

“He should be out of bed in about two hours.”

“Get him _now_!” I yell, at the peak of another contraction.

Gale takes a seat next to me and takes my hand.

“Katniss, it is alright,” he says soothingly. “We’ll get him here as soon as we can. Just hold on a little longer.”

After about an hour the doctor does come and administers a drug that makes the pain go away completely for several hours. During that time I remain in bed, gazing absentmindedly at the monitor that shows when I’m having a contraction. Gale is with me the whole time, knowing me well enough to know when I don’t want to talk, which is most of the time. For the past month I have been eager for the pregnancy to be over with but now that it’s happening I’m so afraid that I don’t know what to do with myself. These are the last few hours I have with my child. Once the birth is over I will never see him or her or ever even know how he or she is doing. Each contraction showed by the monitor is one step closer to the moment when my baby and I part ways for life. It’s enough to make you cry your eyes out but I feel strangely numb about it, like I can’t really fathom it.

By and by the drugs begin to wear off and I’m given something else, something lighter. They want me to be able to feel during the delivery in order for me to be able to push. Nineteen hours after the first contraction they place my legs on stirrups, one nurse holding each leg, and I’m instructed to push with the next contraction. The experience is so utterly humiliating and de-humanizing that I wonder if this is how they do it for the Capitol women or if they simply don’t care to make me feel comfortable since I’m merely a District 12 girl providing a baby for a sterile Capitol couple, Hunger Games victor or not.

My hair, styled in the same two braids I wore at the reaping last year, sticks to my face and I’m sweating profusely. Every muscle in my body seems to ache and I just want to hit the pause button and sleep for a day. The medicine they’ve got me on takes away about two thirds of the pain, or so they tell me, but it still feels like hell on earth. It’s not just the pain, but the feeling of something big pushing through makes me nauseated, feeling like I’m being invaded even though technically the process is the opposite of invasion.

On top of all of that there are currently five people staring directly at my crotch, which, thankfully, is covered by a sheet held over my legs. I am not comfortable with Gale seeing me _that_ exposed, especially not when my intimate parts are being extended and distorted this way. Gale stays by my head, holding my hand, wiping my forehead and coaching me as best he can. He’s doing a good job, knowing me well enough to know how to encourage me, yet I find that I long for Peeta in this moment. Not because he’s the father but because he has a way of comforting me by his mere presence and he has a way of making me feel like I can do the impossible like no one else can. He’s the one who was there beside me through the greatest trial of my life up until this point and I miss his company and support.

I push when they tell me to, almost against my own will. The pain makes me cry out and one of the nurses instructs me to save my breath and focus my energy on pushing instead.

“Go to hell!” I yell through my pain.

“You’re doing good, Katniss,” insists Gale.

“Then why the hell is this taking so damn long?”

The pain of the contraction fades and I swallow the desire to ask how much longer it’s going to be. Somehow I had imagined that the delivery part of the program would take only a few minutes but it’s been going on for close to an hour by now and I’m starting to wonder if I’ve made any actual progress at all. It’s hard to tell when everything hurts.

I get maybe a minute’s reprieve between the pains and I spend them with my eyes closed, gathering my breath and fighting the tears that want to come. How many times have I heard my mother comfort women in labour by telling them that it will all be worth it once they get to hold their baby in their arms? For me there is no such bonus at the end, only another kind of pain, one that I am petrified of having to face.

“Come on Katniss, time to push again,” says the friendliest of the nurses, the one with a firm grip of my right leg.

“Forget it, I can’t,” I whimper.

“Like hell you can’t,” says Gale. “Come on, Katniss. Just one push at a time.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” I cry, my body forcing me to push. I can’t imagine how anyone has ever done this with no pain relief whatsoever. “Aaah, I feel like I’m tearing apart!”

“You are,” says one of the not-so-helpful nurses calmly. “It happens.”

I can’t manage to form a response. After another ten or so pushes the doctor announces that he can see the head and I begin to feel like this might all be over soon, for better or for worse. Still it takes another five or ten minutes before I’m finally told that the head is out and I can stop pushing. With a cry of relief I let my head fall back against the pillows, my eyes closed and my body feeling worse than it ever did in the arena.

“Is it over?” I ask Gale.

Then I hear the sound of a baby crying and my hands shoot up to cover my ears. I know what comes next. The doctor will announce if the baby is healthy or not and he will announce the sex of the child. I can’t stand to hear the last part, nor can I bear to look at my baby. It’s actually here now. Mine and Peeta’s child, conceived by a pair of virgins in a not-so-pleasurable experience on a train heading back to District 12 from a Victory Tour. A life that is here beyond all logic and reason and in spite of all the odds. Now it is to be taken away, my allotted time with him or her is up and I know that the only way I will be able to do this if I don’t know the gender and I don’t see the child.

I’m barely aware of Gale leaving my side or the activities going on between my legs, nor do I pay any attention to the nurse who I know is trying to tell me to open my eyes and take my hands away from my ears. Shaking with sobs I stay the way I am until the muffled sounds of the baby’s cries abruptly end as it is taken out of the room and a door closes between us. My hands leave my ears and I try to make them stop trembling but I can’t seem to be able to.

“Gale?” I say. “Is the baby gone?”

“Yes, they took--”

“Wait!” I say. “Don’t... Don’t tell me whether it is a boy or a girl. Please, I can’t bear to know. I can’t know anything at all about this child or I will never be able to sign those documents.”

He sits down beside me and gently strokes my sweaty forehead.

“It’s okay, Catnip,” he says soothingly. “You did great. You did perfect. I won’t tell you whether it’s a boy or a girl, I promise.”

I open my eyes and see the sympathy, support and love in his face when he looks back at me.

“It’s over,” I sob.

“Yes... I suppose it is.”

“Our child has been taken away.”

“Get some rest, Catnip,” says Gale gently, placing a kiss on my forehead.

It’s strange but even though I’m exhausted and I’ve been up since the early hours of the morning I can’t sleep. I keep my eyes closed for a while so that people, Gale included, will leave me alone but it only works partially. I still have to deliver the afterbirth and someone comes to suture me up, ensuring me that my future husband won’t be able to tell anything has been done down there, which I’m far too exhausted and emotional to feel embarrassed about. It’s not like Peeta actually got a look before anyway and I’m fairly certain he never will. Then another nurse massages my uterus through my belly which probably would have hurt if I hadn’t been given strong pain medications now that the ability to push is no longer necessary.

My eyes open again when a man I recognise as Snow’s secretary comes into the room with the adoption papers for me and Gale to sign. We signed one set of papers when we first arrived to the Capitol, confirming our intent to give the child away, and now that the baby has been born we have to sign papers confirming that we still feel the same way. I have a strong feeling that none of this paperwork is actually needed and that Snow can take the child from me whether I consent to it or not. The documents are probably his way of torturing me if the day comes when I regret the adoption. He will be able to point out to me that I willingly signed the documents that terminate all my rights to the life I created.

After the documents have been signed the nicest of the nurses takes Gale out of the room and I close my eyes again, trying not to feel anything at all. If only the drugs had the same numbing effect on my emotions as on my body. I feel so unbelievably empty and alone, like there’s nothing in the world that could make me feel complete again. A few minutes later Gale comes back and says my name. Wearily I look up at him and the apologetic look on his face makes me feel even worse.

“Katniss... Katniss there is one more thing you have to do.”

“What?” I ask in a tired monotone. “Leave a few litres of blood for their blood bank in case the child ever needs it?”

He steps closer and looks even more apologetic.

“I’m so sorry, Katniss, but... you need to nurse the baby.”

I lift myself up on my elbows, eyes now wide open.

“What?”

“They say it’s necessary for the mother to--”

“I’m not a mother!” I snap, unable to stand the word in connection to myself.

“They say it’s necessary for the woman who has given birth to give the breast to the child in its first hours. Something about antibodies or whatever in the initial milk...”

“Tell them to find somebody else who just had a baby and let _her_ nurse.”

“It has to be you, Katniss. I’m sorry.”

“I can’t!” I burst out, new tears falling down my face. “Gale I _can_ ’ _t_. Please, please don’t ask this of me.”

He walks up to me and pulls me into a hug, letting me sob against his shoulder for a few minutes. He then speaks to me in a soothing voice, gently caressing the back of my head.

“I know how difficult this is for you but you can do it. It’s just one more thing for you to do for your baby.”

“It’s not my baby.” I make a half hearted attempt at stilling my sobs. “Gale I can’t even look at the baby; how am I supposed to be able to hold it?”

“Katniss...” Gently Gale takes a seat on the bed next to me. “You can’t force the baby from your mind and pretend it never existed by refusing to look or touch. You will always be someone who gave birth to a child, nothing can change that. Nurse the baby. I think it would be good for you. You get the chance to say goodbye and to give your child one last parting gift. You’ve done so much to ensure this child’s future, why stop now when there’s just one more thing left to do?”

“Okay,” I nod after a moment, not sure where I’m finding the strength to agree to this. “Okay, for the baby’s sake. But Gale I can’t look at the baby. I just can’t.”

“It’s going to be tricky to nurse without looking,” he points out.

“One of the nurses will have to help me.”

“Okay,” he nods softly and gets up from the bed.

I take a deep breath and gather what strength I have left, closing my eyes again. I keep them firmly shut as one of the nurses brings the baby into the room and helps me unbutton my hospital gown and expose my left breast. I can hear the little noises made by the infant and it takes everything I’ve got not to begin to cry again. My eyes remain closed as the baby is placed in my arms. For a second I feel a bit relieved. The baby is wrapped in a blanket so all I can really feel of him or her is the weight. Then a tiny mouth nuzzles against my breast and, with some help from the nurse, latches on to my nipple. I wince as the baby begins to suckle. It’s painful on so many levels but most of all emotionally.

I sit there for a while, silent tears falling down my cheeks, the little child nursing from my breast. Peeta’s and my baby. I vaguely remember what it felt like that night on the train when Peeta sucked on my nipples. He only did it briefly but it felt nicer than this. I pray fervently that he won’t ever find out about this baby’s existence because I know without a doubt that he would hate me for denying him the right to be here.

The little child seems strong, suckling without hesitation. Hungry. That’s fitting. I still can’t comprehend that the creature in my arms is alive, a product of me and Peeta. Still, it’s fitting, too. Peeta brings life. He helped me survive the arena and now he has made new life together with me.

The nurse softly urges me to open my eyes and look at the baby but I refuse. I cannot have that kind of connection; I can’t put a tiny little face or even the hand that presses against my breast to the person I’m about to give up for all eternity. I’m petrified that I might see myself or Prim in the baby and even more scared I might see Peeta. I know I can’t have a face to attribute to the longing I will forever be feeling because if so I won’t ever be able to close my eyes again without seeing that tiny little person. He or she can’t become an individual to me or I won’t survive the loss.

Finally, at long last, the baby has had enough to eat and the nurse takes him or her away again. Once the baby is gone and my eyes have opened they ask me to move from the bed to a wheelchair and then they take me to a different room to rest. I’m asked if I want Gale to come and keep me company but I want to be alone. I climb into the bed, pulling the blanket up around me and curling up on my side, staring blankly out the window without seeing a thing. Never in my life have I felt more alone. Never have I longed for someone as much as I do now, not even when my father had just died. For a moment I don’t even know for sure if it’s the baby I long for or the baby’s father. It doesn’t really matter. Neither one of them can be here with me.

“Forgive me,” I whisper to them both, more tears falling down my face. “Forgive me, _please_.”

Aching both physically and emotionally I cry myself to sleep that night, wondering how I will ever be able to look Peeta in the eye again. After no more than an hour I wake up from a nightmare and I wish with every part of my being that Peeta was here holding me and making me feel safe and that the soft baby blue blanket I’m nuzzling against is our baby and not just the blanket the baby was wrapped around when I was nursing.


	2. Chapter 2

2

It’s a hot October day when Gale and I arrive back in District 12 with no fanfare and nobody knowing that we’re coming. It’s been a month and a half since I gave birth but Snow kept me in isolation for as long as it’s taken to get all the signs of my pregnancy to disappear. A strict training and diet regime has removed every extra gram of fat I gained, the doctors have removed the stretch marks from my stomach and my breasts and since I only breastfed on one occasion my breasts have returned to their previous size and been surgically lifted a bit to remove any hints that they once were full of milk. Not that anyone here would believe it.

It’s a huge relief that our return home hasn’t been announced to anyone, including our families. If it was then Peeta would be here and I can’t face him right now. Starting tomorrow I’m going to be up to my ears in planning the wedding to be held on December 31st which is supposed to signify new beginnings and good fortune. I don’t believe in either one.

Prim is very excited to see me when I walk through the door and she throws her arms around me with a shriek that wakes up Buttercup who is napping on the dresser. My mother is her usual restrained self but she gives me a hug and does seem pleased to have me home. Prim immediately begins to prepare lunch for me, talking a mile a minute about everything that’s happened while I’ve been away. My mother interjects with a few questions about my health. We sit down to eat and in the midst of my relief at being home with my family almost a full two hours pass before the sadness comes creeping back to me.

When it does I excuse myself and go upstairs to lie down. My mother and sister think I’m still weak from my illness and offer me all kinds of remedies to make me feel better but I don’t want anything. I walk up the stairs into my old bedroom and lay down on the bed. With a blanket pulled over me, in spite of the heat outdoors, I lay there for a while and wait for the pain to fade. It’s the only thing I can think of since nothing else helps.

I had known it would be difficult giving the baby up but I had managed to convince myself that the pain would be at its worst on the day of the birth and that I would somehow be able to put it from my mind after that. That doesn’t seem at all plausible now. My mind is constantly with my child, wondering how he or she is doing, if he or she is growing properly, what he or she looks like. When I was still in the Capitol I convinced myself that it would get easier once I got back home, away from the place where I actually held the baby in my arms, but being home doesn’t make it easier at all. Pain is pain, no matter where you are, and longing and loss are still longing and loss.

After a while there’s a soft knock on the door and Prim enters the room.

“Katniss? Are you up?”

“I’m not feeling well” I answer, not bothering to turn around to look at her.

“Peeta’s downstairs” says Prim. “He heard you were home and he would like to see you. If you’re up for it.”

Peeta. I’m not strong enough to face him right now. I need to prepare for that meeting. I’m terrified of what I will feel when I look at him, when he puts his arms around me and when he kisses me. I’m beginning to doubt that I will ever be able to keep my secret because it’s too monumental and it’s too closely tied to Peeta. Surely he must be able to tell that I’m keeping something from him when he looks at me. I’ve lied to him before but this is different than pretending to be in love with him to save our lives in the Hunger Games. When we were in the arena I thought he was pretending too but now I know I’m the only one who’s lying. Though I suppose there’s one thing the two lies have in common. The first one was to save our lives in the Hunger Games. This one is to save our child from ever having to enter the arena.

“Not today” I finally answer Prim. “I want to be alone.”

She hesitates at the door but then she leaves. I close my eyes hard and wish I still had the baby’s blanket with me. It was my source of comfort in the Capitol but they didn’t permit me to bring it home. It makes sense that people would find it strange that I return from the Capitol with a baby blue blanket that I cling to like it’s my link to sanity but when I had to leave it behind I left the last physical connection to the child. Unless you count the child’s father but that’s more problematic than comforting.

I don’t come down for dinner and eventually the sky grows dark outside my window. I fall asleep that night on top of the covers, under the blanket, dreaming of a person I have never seen and only briefly held in my arms.

 

 

If I was expecting some form of normalcy when I got home I was sorely mistaken. I’ve barely arrived back in Twelve before I’m visited by Lucia, the wedding planner, who seems to think that my wedding to Peeta is the most important thing that has happened since oxygen came into the atmosphere. She’s gotten a lot of work done already with Peeta, who seems to have mostly been shrugging his shoulders or suggesting something far less extravagant than whatever Lucia had in mind. She’s barely been in my house ten minutes before she complains to me about my hopeless fiancé and with a chuckle declares that it’s so nice to be working with the bride, who will understand the importance of large ice sculptures and napkins in the exactly right shade of red and a wedding party of at least fifty people.

When I agree with Peeta that less is more and we should keep it relatively low-key I think she’s about to have a stroke.

My spirits lift a bit when Cinna and my prep team arrive over a weekend with a number of wedding gowns. The gowns themselves don’t excite me, although they are beautiful and Cinna has thankfully designed pieces that I would feel at least somewhat comfortable wearing. Seeing Cinna again is just what I need at this point. I am to be photographed in each of the gowns so that the citizens of Panem can vote on which one I should wear at the wedding. When they say “Panem” I know they mean “the Capitol” and under different circumstances I would have found it ludicrous that they should have any say in what gown I get married in but as it is I don’t mind having someone else make that decision for me. Though I roll my eyes when Octavia chirps that we must keep Peeta away so that he doesn’t see me in my dresses before the wedding. Peeta will be expected to watch the broadcast when the gowns are presented, just like everyone else, so he will no doubt see me dolled up like this well before the wedding.

They keep me so busy that I barely have time to think about anything else which is a huge relief. When they leave on Sunday afternoon the house is so quiet and I have nothing to do but think. I spend the evening in my bedroom, wishing I could have more than just a few days’ reprieve from the sorrow I’m feeling.

October and November go by slowly and I can’t make myself feel excited about anything for very long. Peeta and I sit with Lucia and all three of us pretend that Peeta and I have any real say in the wedding plans but I’m mostly withdrawn and stuck in my own head. Peeta tries to get me excited or at the very least cheer me up a bit but by the time November becomes December he has stopped trying and I don’t see much of him unless it’s about planning the wedding. Truthfully he doesn’t seem very excited about our upcoming nuptials either but I’m too wrapped up in my own pain to see much of his troubles. I even find that I’m glad he stays away. Being around him is very difficult nowadays and I gladly take whatever reprieve I can get before we’re joined for life.

I spend my last day of District Twelve freedom out in the woods by myself. I don’t see Gale much anymore. He has to work hard in the mines and I know he’s displeased about my upcoming marriage. Our last weeks in the Capitol he often spoke of how the two of us never got an honest chance and how wrong it is to force Peeta and me together. I’m not sure Gale and I would have ever become more than friends if things had been different since I would have never agreed to marry anyone if I had a choice in the matter but I found it easier not to argue and just let him talk. These days I suppose he stays away from me because he’s having a hard time letting go of whatever fantasies he might have had about him and me together. I can understand that. I struggle every day with my own fantasies of how things could have been different.

On my way back from the woods I decide to stop by and see Haymitch. He’s coming to the Capitol for the big event but he will be travelling with our families on December 29th and not with Peeta and me tomorrow. I have a rabbit in my game bag which he could probably benefit from eating, seeing as how he sometimes doesn’t bother to pick up his supplies and prefers to quench his hunger with alcohol. When I step inside his kitchen he’s alert and sober and sitting by the table, though the bottle of white liquor in front of him suggests he’s not going to stay that way for long.

“Well, if it isn’t the blushing bride” says Haymitch when he sees me. “All excited about the happiest day of your life?”

“I brought you game” I say and set the bag down on the table.

“Nothing says wedding jitters like dead animals.”

“I don’t have jitters” I shoot back, though I’m not sure why I’m arguing with him. I lift up the rabbit from the bag and walk over to the counter to skin it. “You need to eat. Something with actual nutrients in it and that doesn’t come in a bottle.”

“And I bet you need a drink.”

He’s right but I ignore the comment and focus on the rabbit. For a few minutes the only sound that is heard is me working on the rabbit and Haymitch rolling a glass back and forth between his palms.

“Would you do me a favour, sweetheart?” asks Haymitch after a while.

“What?”

“When you’re in the Capitol could you at least try to hide your disdain at the thought of marrying the boy?”

I frown and shoot him a look over my shoulder.

“I don’t _disdain_ the thought” I say. “I don’t feel _excited_ about it but why should I?”

“No, I guess I can’t blame you for that” sighs Haymitch. “I know you don’t love him and I know marriage wasn’t on your list of milestones you want to achieve in life. Still, a year ago you were good enough at pretending.”

I suppose Haymitch is right, though I haven’t thought about it. I have been acting distant and uninterested which could easily be interpreted as lack of enthusiasm about the wedding even though it’s about so much more than that. I’ve been in a near permanent state of sadness since this summer and nothing really seems fun and if I could have it my way I would spend most of my time in bed with the blinders shut. This lack of energy and excitement does not rhyme well with a soon-to-be-bride but thus far nobody has seen a lot of me except for my family, Haymitch, Peeta and Lucia. Once we arrive in the Capitol all eyes will be on me.

“I’ll smile when there’s a camera around” I assure Haymitch.

“Good. Otherwise the pair of you are going to be the gloomiest looking bride and groom to ever have a big televised wedding.”

“Peeta’s not gloomy” I say dismissively, finally getting the fur off the rabbit.

Haymitch snorts and I turn my head towards him, wondering what he’s trying to say. He doesn’t leave me hanging for long.

“If you think the boy is excited about what’s to happen then you’re both sadly mistaken and horribly ignorant” says Haymitch, finally unscrewing the cap of the bottle and pouring white liquor into his glass. “Peeta’s not happy at all.”

“Why?” I can’t help but ask. “I thought he was past the whole thing about not wanting it to happen this way.”

“He had made his peace with it” nods Haymitch. “Marrying the girl you love for the sake of appearances is one thing. Having her be so disconnected from it and sad about it is a whole other thing entirely. Maybe he thought you did care about him on some level before but your behaviour since you’ve been back in Twelve has suggested otherwise.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“What do I mean?” repeats Haymitch with disbelief. “You show no interest whatsoever in the planning. You look uncomfortable whenever Peeta walks into the room. Whenever he touches you you’re practically cringing.”

“I am not” I argue.

“Yeah you are. You don’t think he notices?”

I don’t know what to answer. I know I’ve been drawing away from Peeta since I’ve been back but I didn’t think he would read that much into it. I don’t want him to think that I detest the thought of marrying him. I may not want to get married and I may hate the circumstances but I know I could be a lot worse off than paired up with Peeta Mellark. The thought of having an actual marriage, with all that it entails, makes me nervous but Peeta is a good man and there is a connection between us that is hard to break. Two connections, though he’ll only ever know of one.

“I didn’t intend to upset him” I mumble to Haymitch. “It’s not... Peeta is not the problem. I’m just overwhelmed. I’ve barely recovered from my illness and now I’m getting married in a big circus that has little to nothing to do with me, or Peeta, and my whole life is going to be dictated by President Snow and whoever takes his place the day he keels over. It may be that I’ve shied away from Peeta because he’s the person I’ll be tethered to but it’s not because of him personally.”

Haymitch rises and walks over to me, taking the knife from my hand and continuing to prepare the rabbit.

“Don’t give that little speech to Peeta” he suggests.

“Why not?”

“Because as long as you refer to it as being _tethered_ to him I think he might take offense.”

 

 

Any resolve I had to be warmer towards Peeta and make this whole thing easier on him leaves me the next morning when we’re ushered onboard the train that will take us to the Capitol and our wedding. Too many memories come over me and it takes more strength than it should to not betray my inner turmoil. Peeta casts a glance at me and then walks to his compartment, closing the door behind him. I make my way to my own rooms, familiar to me now after several rides on this particular train, and get up on the bed. It’s so much wider and more comfortable than the one I had less than a year ago on my last trip to the Capitol. I sit back against the headrest, pulling my legs towards me and wrapping my arms around my knees. I can’t think about Peeta right now. All I can think about is his son or daughter. Soon I will be in the same city as the baby. I don’t know if that’s encouraging or saddening.

Will the adoptive parents be watching the wedding festivities? Probably. The Capitol audience is probably not required to do so but I can’t imagine that any of them would want to miss it. This wedding is more for their benefit than for ours, anyway. Will the adoptive parents have the baby with them as they watch the service? Will our child, even though far too young to probably even notice the screen, be sitting there watching his or her biological parents get married?

And will the baby ever have biological siblings that Peeta and I won’t be able to protect?

I look down at my left arm. In the days after my delivery I complained more than reasonably much about pains in my lower belly, pains that were probably normal and in truth not all that bad, but I couldn’t address the pain in my heart so I bellyached about my belly ache as much as I could. Thanks to this one of the nurses worried that it might be hazardous for me to become pregnant again too soon, for some medical reason I didn’t pay any interest to, and the decision was made that I should wait at least a year before presenting the world with Peeta’s and my first lovechild born in proper wedlock. They planted a device in my arm that works as a contraceptive for exactly 365 days. At least for a year I won’t have to worry about getting pregnant.

If Peeta and I even have a sexlife together, that is. I don’t care to think about a man getting near me down there after what my body was put through during the delivery and right now our relationship is anything but amorous. Having another baby seems as far away as going back into the arena.

 

 

The train ride goes by without drama. I spend most of my time in my bedroom, wallowing in the self-pity and the difficult memories since I know that once we’ve arrived I will probably be watched at all times and will need to put on a happy face. Peeta divides his time between his compartment and the big couch by the TV where he sits with a pad and pencils, working on some sketches that he doesn’t show me. The only time we see each other is during breakfast, lunch and dinner and neither of us has much to say at those times. Peeta mutters something about wedding jitters to Lucia in case she was wondering what is wrong. I’m not sure he needs to comment at all since she’s been around us long enough to know we’re not wild about the upcoming festivities.

The first time we really communicate, Peeta and me, is when we arrive at the train station and see the crowds of excited Capitol citizens who have come to catch a glimpse of us. Lucia, in lieu of proper stylists, has told us to put on matching outfits and we stand together by the train doors, waiting for them to open and expose us to the masses outside, both of us dressed in light blue jeans and white tops which Lucia claims makes us look innocent and appropriate for an upcoming wedding.

“Are you ready?” I ask Peeta in a monotone.

“If you are” he answers back, tentatively reaching for my hand.

The doors begin to open and right on cue Peeta and I plaster fake smiles on our faces and wave with our free hands. It feels incredibly phoney but the crowds seem to love it and that’s all that really matters right now.

“Darlings!” squeals Effie through the commotion, hurrying up to us as fast as her unreasonably long and sharp heels will allow. “You are here, at last.”

“I didn’t know Effie was involved with this gig” I say through my smiling teeth. “Did you?”

“Not a clue” replies Peeta.

The next thing we know Effie has reached us and is throwing her arms around us.

“I am _so_ excited that the big day is finally around the corner!” she chirps. “You two must be over the moon. Come along, we’ve got some amazing quarters for you to stay in. Best quarters in the Capitol, in fact, not counting the president’s palace.”

For half a second my smile fades but then I force it back into place. I’m better off not thinking about the palace and focusing solely on what is going to happen four days from now.

True to form Effie babbles the entire time while we ride in a fancy car through the streets of the Capitol on our way to our living quarters. Peeta and I share a nervous glance at the itinerary she rattles off. It doesn’t seem like we’ll be having much time for sleep or reflection in the days leading up to the wedding. There are official appearances, last minute adjustments to wardrobe, an entire afternoon devoted to me trying various hairstyles and apparently there has been a contest wherein whoever can cough up the highest sum of money gets to drink tea with Peeta and me. There are twelve such tea meetings scheduled in the upcoming five days.

“I know, I know” says Effie. “It all sounds a tad overwhelming. Just think, though, at how you won’t have time to think of your jitters. The days will be flying by and before you know it the whole country will be watching you get married, sharing in your happiest moment!”

The way she talks about the wedding baffles me. Effie is one of the few people who knows this whole thing is a sham. I glance over at Peeta but he doesn’t seem to react to the way she goes on and on about how wonderful it will be for us to be married and how happy we’re going to be together.

 

 

The following days go by in a blur. There is so much to do and so many people beckoning for our attention that I can barely catch my breath. At least Effie was right about us being kept so busy that we won’t have time to be nervous. All the fuss soon begins to irritate me and the only time I’m really comfortable is when I’m having my dress fittings with Cinna. The wedding gown that won the vote is beautiful and it fits perfectly so he doesn’t have to adjust it but there are still a number of dresses for all the other events in the days leading up to the wedding.

I barely get a chance to say two words to Peeta that aren’t part of a performance in front of a camera or Capitol citizens. He plays his role to perfection, as I knew he would. Nobody who’s not in the know would think he is anything other than an excited soon-to-be-groom. Whenever we’re out of the line of sight and don’t have to pretend his face changes to a rather gloomy expression and I’m reminded of what Haymitch told me the day before we left. I wish I could have a moment to speak with him in private but I strongly suspect that we are being watched at all times.

Two days before the wedding I decide that we need to talk and we need to do it tonight. Tomorrow morning Peeta will be moved to a different hotel since Capitol decorum dictates that the bride and groom should be kept at a certain distance from one another on the night before the wedding. I don’t want us to go into this marriage without having sorted out whatever needs to be sorted out between us. I know this is difficult for him, too, and I know I haven’t made it easier. Peeta is doing all of this for me, I was the one who made the Capitol look bad and it is the safety of my friends and family on the line. Peeta is relatively innocent in the eyes of President Snow and his goons. He didn’t have to marry me to keep his loved ones safe and he should know my gratitude before we meet at the aisle two days from now. My behaviour these past months have had less to do with the wedding and more to do with the baby and he shouldn’t have to think I’m tortured by the thought of being his wife. Especially when the wedding was my suggestion in the first place.

Thankfully we have nothing on our schedules after dinner this evening so we can talk in peace and quiet. I go and knock on his door and when I walk inside his room I find him packing. He looks up at me, then goes back to his task. Without saying a word I walk inside the room and sit down on the large bed.

“When do you leave tomorrow?” I ask after a moment.

“After breakfast.”

“Listen, I... Peeta there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“There’s something I want to tell you, too” answers Peeta. He then confuses me by raising his arm and sniffing the sleeve. “I smell like hell. I’ve been running around in this shirt all day long. Talk to me while I’m in the shower.”

My mouth falls open and I struggle to find a suitable reply or even comprehend what he just said. I’ve seen him almost naked in the arena and that made me uncomfortable. I’ve been naked with him in a bed but I didn’t actually see anything that night, although I felt a lot. Being in the room while he’s in the shower sounds incredibly awkward to me and when he walks over and takes my hand, leading me to the bathroom, I note that he smells just fine and shouldn’t need a shower in the first place.

We walk inside the bathroom and he closes the door behind us. He waits for about ten seconds and then he walks over and turns the shower on, pulling the shower curtain closed so we won’t get wet. I’m even more confused now but Peeta walks closer to me and sits down on the thick rug on the floor so I follow his lead and wait for an explanation.

“In case someone is listening in” he says. He then begins to talk rapidly, as if he’s been thinking about this for a long time and wants to get it said without further delay. “I’ve thought a lot about when we get back to District 12 and will be living together, which I know you’re not looking forward to, but you can’t keep living with your family once we are married. There’s nobody living in my house right now other than me. It’s a big place, is what I’m saying. I mean...” He gives me an apologetic look. “There are a lot of bedrooms. Here in the Capitol they’ve probably got us watched at all times but in our houses in the Victors’ Village there are no cameras. You can stay in another bedroom and nobody has to know about it.”

“You mean you don’t want me to sleep in your bed?” I ask.

“I know you don’t like what’s about to happen” he says and the tone he says it in makes me feel like crap. “I don’t want to make it worse on you.”

“Peeta, I have shared a bed with you before” I point out gently. “I don’t mind.”

“Katniss the last thing I want to be is yet another person who imposes on your life and makes you feel uncomfortable.”

“You don’t” I assure him. “In fact, the thing I wanted to talk to you about... I’m sorry. I’m really sorry about how I’ve been behaving since I came back to Twelve.”

“No” says Peeta. “Don’t apologise. Why should you act any different? Why should you be at all excited about what’s happening?”

“Peeta, I don’t think it’s _that_ awful” I say. “Do I wish things were different? Of course I do. Do I wish I didn’t have to get married like this? Absolutely. But the problem isn’t _you_. I don’t want to be forced to marry _anyone_ but as far as grooms go I don’t think I could ask for anyone better than you. I know I’ve been a pain lately but it’s not about you. It’s...” My eyes leave his and I draw a shaky breath. “I had a really tough time when I was here in the medical ward. There’s a lot of it that I haven’t dealt with. Also, the doctors said I might feel depressed for a while afterward, that it’s a normal reaction. I would have been just as gloomy without the wedding.”

I realize I’m not exactly selling the point that I don’t detest the idea of being tied to him for life and I can see the wheels in Peeta’s head turning as he processes what I just said. I expect him to make further comments and questions about my thoughts of our upcoming marriage but instead he wants to know about something else I mentioned.

“We haven’t talked at all about what you went through here. Just a little bit on the phone while you were still here. You know you can talk to me, right? If you need to. We’re going to be married, even if it’s in name only we’re still going to be under one roof and... we’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Yeah” I nod. “We’re friends.” I reach out my hand and place it on top of his, meeting his eyes again. “Good friends. Teammates. I leaned on you through one of the toughest ordeals of my life and you leaned on me. I need you to know that... that if I have to be forced into marriage there’s nobody I could endure it with better than you.”

Wrong thing to say, I can tell by the look on his face. He stands up and pulls me up with him. I guess the heart-to-heart is over.

“They’re going to wonder if I’m going to shower all evening” says Peeta.

“Peeta” I say, stopping him with my hand when he moves towards the shower. He looks at me and I give him a faint smile. “We’re doing this together.”

“Together” he nods after a second.

“I don’t want to be lonely all my life. I sleep well when I’m with you. Let’s not have separate bedrooms.”

“Okay” nods Peeta.

“Remember what we talked about that night on the train?” I ask.

“That we should make the most of it.”

“Yeah.” My hand strokes his cheek and he looks a little bit more content. “Let’s just... Let’s just take it as it comes and figure it all out together.”

He nods again and walks over to the shower, reaching his arm behind the shower curtain and turning the water off.

“Together.”

 

 

Lying in my bed that night I think about Peeta and everything that I ask of him, and how little I give back. I will never understand his devotion to me. You’d think that by now those feelings would have gone away since the only time he got rewarded for his devotion he eventually found out that I was pretending.

I wonder how he would feel if he found out what I am keeping from him. Would he understand? Or would that be the one thing his loyalty can’t look past? It’s a great comfort to me to know that I will never have to find out the answer and I’m aware that feeling that way makes me a horrible person. Then again, it’s just one more thing to add to the list.

Our wedding is in less than forty-eight hours. I know that it’s time for me to move forward and stop dwelling in the past. I know I can’t stop grieving the baby who is being raised by someone else but I have had my mourning period and now it’s time to go forward, like when my father died and I reached the point where I had to get a hold of myself and worry about the rest of my life.

That time it was Peeta who unknowingly pulled me out of my hopelessness and gave me the incentive to do something more about my situation. I make up my mind to focus on him now to help pull myself together. I owe him so much and on top of that I gave away his child without him ever knowing about it. There is nothing I can ever do to make up for that, even though I would do it again tomorrow if I had to. Maybe Peeta would be grateful that I found a way to keep our child safe but he still never got a say in it and he carries on with his life without having the slightest idea that he has a son or daughter living in the Capitol.

I want to make it all up to him. Everything I have taken from him, everything I have let him give to me, all the sacrifices and the unwarranted devotion. Before I go to sleep that night I decide to do everything I can to make him happy and to be as good a wife as I am capable of. If nothing else he should have a devoted friend by his side and he should know how much I appreciate him.

Having made up my mind I go to sleep. I have a nightmare where a little infant is put in the Games and all I can do is watch in horror. I wake up panting and sweating and longing to have Peeta’s arms around me for comfort.

 

 

I had hoped to get some time alone with Cinna before the ceremony, reminiscent of the few moments we had before I entered the arena. If anyone would be able to comfort me right now and help me put my game face on it is Cinna. As it turns out I barely get to see him at all since there is such a commotion around me at all times in the early hours of my wedding day and Cinna only makes a brief appearance to make sure my dress is fitting perfectly.

The person I end up getting alone time with is Effie. She escorts me from the dressing room to the room where I will be waiting for the ceremony to start. It’s located just outside the hall where the wedding will take place and she brings me there right before they start letting people in so that I can be in the right place without anybody seeing me before it’s show time. There’s an especially large interest taken in my wedding gown since they never made it official which gown won the poll and Plutarch Heavensbee, who ought to be disgruntled at having to take a break from planning the 76th Hunger Games to orchestrate the wedding broadcast, made it absolutely clear that the greatest disaster that could ever befall Panem would be somebody sighting me in my gown before the ceremony starts.

Effie leads me inside the room and closes the door behind us. I look at the comfortable chairs but I don’t dare to sit down. If the dress gets wrinkly after the wedding it’s not such a big deal but I need to look pristine when I walk down the aisle.

The clicking of Effie’s heels makes me turn around and the look on her face surprises me. Her usual cheerful face is gone and she looks solemn more than anything else. She stops in front of me and with her right hand gently sweeps aside the one strain of my hair that was left out of the advanced hair arrangement.

“It’s about one hour until it starts” says Effie in a sombre tone. “You can do this, Katniss. Just smile and let Peeta help you through it. Or pretend that you’re back in the Games and you’re in that cave together and your survival depends on selling the romance.”

I’m completely perplexed by what she is saying, and more than a little worried that someone might be listening, although I suppose if Effie dares to talk like this she must feel safe in this room. All this time since we arrived I was under the impression that she had forgotten that the wedding was for show and that she was genuinely excited about it. Now I realize why Peeta didn’t seem to find her behaviour odd. She was faking it to help us sell the romance but she hasn’t forgotten that we’re all playing a very dangerous game.

“Do you think it will be okay?” I ask her in a whisper, not used to having moments like this with Effie Trinket.

“You could be a lot worse off” answers Effie. “Marrying Peeta... I think all the other victors envy the pair of you.”

Before I can make sense of that statement she kisses me on the cheek and leaves to make sure Peeta’s prep team are on schedule. No doubt she will be giving him the same kind of pep talk.

After Effie has gone I expect to be left alone until right before the ceremony. My mother can’t be with me since she and all other “high profile” guests are being seated first before the larger crowd comes in. My sister is a bridesmaid and is being styled and prepped right now and probably Cinna is with her making sure her dress is just right. I have three bridesmaids, though if it had been up to me I would have had just Prim if I had to have any at all. We don’t have wedding parties in District 12 and Peeta and I both felt it was unnecessary. We were overruled.

On the bright side, at least Gale is not one of Peeta’s groomsmen. President Snow wanted him to be, to make sure everyone who watches knows that he is merely a beloved cousin and that he fully supports my union with Peeta. Gale firmly refused to partake and scared me half to death when he said he would rather take a whipping on the town square if it came to that. Luckily Haymitch stepped in and said that if Gale was there it might take some focus off Peeta and me and that did the trick. As it is, Peeta’s groomsmen are his two brothers and Finnick Odair, a victor from District 4, and I don’t have the faintest idea why he’s in the party. Maybe they want him up there because he’s the prettiest man in Panem. Plutarch insisted that we each have a fellow victor in our party to signal unity among the victors, all of whom of course support the Capitol in all matters, and to remind anyone who might have lived in the coal mines for the past two years that Peeta’s and my romance is tied to the Hunger Games. The victor chosen for my wedding party was originally Annie Cresta, also from District 4, but there was a change three days ago and now it’s Johanna Mason, the lunatic from District 7. Frankly she scares me a little and she doesn’t seem the least bit convinced by Peeta’s and my supposed love nor does she seem to like me at all. I can only hope she won’t scare my sister half to death. For my third bridesmaid they wanted to hold a contest where a lucky Capitol girl would win the honour but I insisted on having Madge Undersee. The daughter of District 12’s mayor was deemed a suitable choice and now here she is, also being prepped and plucked and dressed.

Nervously I begin to pace back and forth while I repeat the vows I’m about to make. In District 12 we don’t do wedding vows but you can’t have a Capitol wedding without it and while there are standardized ones you can use it’s considered far less romantic than if you write your own. In our case that meant speech writers writing our vows for us but both Peeta and I dug our heels in at that one since what they came up with was so sickeningly sweet that neither one of us thought we could say it with a straight face. We ended up compromising by writing them ourselves with the help of Haymitch and Peeta’s oldest brother, using the previous ones as guidelines and including all the points they felt were important. Even though I took part in writing them I’ve had a really hard time memorizing them and I’m nervous that I will flub my lines up there at the altar.

The door opens behind me and I spin around, my heart filling with hope that it might be Cinna. Instead it’s Haymitch, looking more handsome that I’ve ever seen him before. He’s dressed in a very flattering grey suit, he is completely sober and he has been plucked and groomed just like the rest of us. It’s actually relieving to see him and I let him give me a hug when he walks over to me.

“I just came from seeing the boy” says Haymitch.

“How is he?”

“Nervous.”

“Yeah, he’s in good company.”

I walk over to the small dresser and rest my hands on it, wishing there was a window I could look out of rather than just stare at these dark wooden walls. I feel trapped in this room, which is not a good feeling to have in your last moments before getting married.

“You’ll be alright, sweetheart” says Haymitch. “We all have things that are expected of us as victors. You and Peeta get off easier than most.”

“That is the second time somebody has said something like that to me in under fifteen minutes” I say with a questioning look over my shoulder.

“Besides, you know you’re in complete control in this union” says Haymitch as if he didn’t hear me. He walks over to me and sticks his hands in his pockets. “You know the boy won’t touch you unless you permit it. You know he will let you have your way in everything. If you want you can sit back and relax for the rest of your life and let him do all the cooking and the cleaning and the laundry.” Just when I’m about to snarl something really unflattering at him he continues with something that makes me laugh. “On the other hand, you’re going to be stuck with that wretched mother of his.”

“Yeah that’s true.”

“Just you wait until you’re having those family dinners. I don’t know why you’re laughing, the woman is as vicious as a tracker jacker on the loose.”

“Tracker jacker?” I laugh. “Was that the best ferocious animal you could think of?”

“To be honest, when she talks all I hear is the buzzing noise the tracker jackers make.”

I laugh at that comment too and then I give Haymitch a thankful smile.

“Thanks for trying to lighten the mood” I tell him. “I’m glad you’re here. It’s a really long wait until this thing starts.”

“It will be over before you know it” says Haymitch, putting a hand on my shoulder.

I nod and take a deep breath. The wedding is going to be the hardest part but once it’s over Peeta and I can figure out how to live our lives together without any cameras on our faces. Back home in District 12 we will have our own house where we can stop pretending and maybe find a way to be happy together on our own terms. But first, the wedding. I look at the big clock on the wall. Forty minutes left.

 

 

I barely see the crowds or hear the music or the commotion, I’m so preoccupied with keeping my face in a relaxed smile, even though the last thing Haymitch says before taking my arm to walk me down the aisle is that it’s alright to look nervous because people _are_ nervous when they get married. The aisle seems never ending and I wish I could walk faster but Haymitch has set a slow pace and will not budge. I suppose we need to move slowly so that everyone can see me properly in my white wedding gown and my exclusive makeup.

Somewhere at the end of the aisle my sister is standing together with Madge and Johanna and opposite them stands Peeta, his two brothers and Finnick. I can’t see them yet but it’s just as well because once they come into view I will also be able to see President Snow, who has graced our union by declaring he will perform the ceremony. I would have rather had anyone else, even Caesar Flickerman would have sufficed, but Snow would never pass up on an opportunity like this. Not only does it give a show of unity between himself and us but it will probably boost his popularity in the districts.

When they finally come close enough for me to see them I set my eyes on Peeta and refuse to look anywhere else. He looks nervous but the smile on his face is very genuine and he seems to find me beautiful in my wedding gown. I blush a little, a moment which I will later get to see over and over and over, played on TV and celebrated as the best TV moment of that year. When we reach the end of the aisle Haymitch leans in closer and whispers in my ear that I can do it. He then kisses me on the cheek and turns me over to Peeta. I take Peeta’s hands in mine and focus only on him, trying to ignore the smell of blood and roses and my hatred for the voice that now binds Peeta and me together for life.

I’m the first to recite my vows and I remember them perfectly, to my own surprise. Peeta does well with his, too, but before the end he veers off the script and adds a new line.

“I vow to never make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

He slips it in smoothly. No one who didn’t know the vows by heart beforehand is likely to notice. Still it relaxes me a little to hear it and I run my thumb gently over the back of his hand to let him know I appreciate it.

Finally President Snow pronounces us husband and wife and to the applause of the over one hundred people in the room Peeta pulls me close and kisses me for the first time as my husband. I wrap my arms around his neck and deepen the kiss, feeling we should have a proper one in this moment. When our lips part he smiles at me and the smile I give him in return is genuine.

 

 

The rest of the day and the evening that follows go by in a blur. So many people wanting to congratulate us, so many pictures that need to be taken, so many speeches to listen to and so many strange Capitol traditions to adhere to. Throughout it all Peeta and I play our roles to perfection, smiling at one another, stealing kisses, whispering secrets to one another. I only see Gale once, when he gives me a stiff hug and shakes Peeta’s hand, congratulating us both. He stays out of sight for the rest of the day and I’m thankful for that. Things are confusing enough as it is without adding Gale to the mix.

Prim is very excited and is having the time of her life. It’s the first time she’s ever been to any finer event, and what an event to make your debut on. I’m a little concerned that she is too young for these kind of festivities but at least it’s good seeing her smiling and happy. She dances with Peeta’s oldest brother, the one who escorted her during the ceremony, and Peeta teasingly threatens his brother to behave himself since Prim is so young. Later in the evening Prim insists on dancing with Peeta as well and since I am sitting that dance out I can watch them together and enjoy the sight of the two of them getting along so well.

Speaking of dancing, there is much of that to be done. One of the traditions is for the father of the bride and the mother of the groom to have the first dance with the newlyweds and then halfway through exchange partners. In lieu of a father I get to dance with Haymitch and he cracks another joke about Peeta’s unfriendly mother and how he’s afraid of having to lead her around the dance floor.

Other people on my list of dance partners include Peeta’s father and both his brothers, Plutarch Heavensbee, Caesar Flickerman, three Hunger Games victors in succession and, thankfully, Cinna. Even more thankfully I don’t have to dance with President Snow, who retires early from the party. The most interesting dance of the evening instead belongs to Finnick Odair, who gives me his most charming smile and spends the first minute of the dance twirling me around so much that I’m half convinced I’m going to see my dinner one more time this evening. Then he steadies me with his strong arms and pulls me closer, resting his face so that his lips are just by my ear.

“Lovely wedding, Mrs. Mellark.”

“Mrs. Mellark is the woman currently making Caesar Flickerman wish he had never gotten the idea to ask her to dance” I reply. “I’m keeping the name Everdeen.”

“Of course. Call yourself Mellark and no one might know you anymore.”

“Call myself Mellark and I would no longer feel like myself.”

“Your husband is a good guy, you know” says Finnick.

“I’m aware of that” I answer, feeling annoyed by his insinuation. “I have, in fact, met him before today.”

“I’m serious, Katniss” says Finnick in a tone that definitely drives his point home. “Out of all us victors he is the only one I would call a truly decent person. Him and possibly Annie Cresta. You have no idea how fortunate you both are. Most of us are not that lucky. Do right by him.”

I frown and pull back to look him in the eye.

“Why does everyone keep hinting that Peeta and I are fortunate compared to the other victors?” I ask. “You don’t seem to upset with your lot in life. How many new women have you had your way with since you arrived here for the wedding?”

“What makes you think it’s me having my way with them?” asks Finnick coldly. Then he pulls me closer again and continues to mumble in my ear. “I’m just telling you to cherish what you’ve got. He deserves that.”

“You seem to know a lot about him from watching the Hunger Games” I can’t help but note. “Not that I’m disagreeing with you, but you barely know him...”

“Except I do know him” argues Finnick. “At least a bit, from the last Games. And I look forward to getting to know you too this summer.”

He’s quiet for a second and then switches back to the Finnick Odair I’ve watched on TV and heard about through the grapevine. He makes a cheeky comment about the upcoming wedding night that would have made me slap him if I hadn’t suspected that he was hoping to get such a reaction from me. He then says something meant to make me laugh but I’m not in the mood to be entertained by him. Truth be told I find him rather off-putting.

By the end of the dance I am glad to be going back to sit with Peeta and I watch as Finnick goes back to wooing another Capitol woman. I lean in closer to Peeta and make a comment about how he’s using his charms for the powers of evil but the reply I get is that Finnick is a pretty decent guy, all things considered, so I decide to drop it.

Later that evening when they’re playing the final dance before Peeta and I will depart and leave the guests to party until dawn I see Finnick holding Annie Cresta close on the dance floor, both of them looking more at peace than I have ever seen them before. I don’t have time to give it any thought, however, because our families have come up to us to wish us well and bid us a good night. My mother looks quite uncomfortable to be sending us off to our wedding night and I wonder what she would say if she knew that not only have Peeta and I slept together in the past but I have borne his child.

When we finally get to leave we are taken out to a waiting car and we sink down into the comfortable leather seats and both at the same time exhale loudly in relief. Finally the act is over and we can just be ourselves and it is calm and quiet around us.

“Remind me never to do that again” says Peeta. “It was fun and all but... Good grief I’ve never been to a more exhausting party. Seriously, remind me never to do that again.”

“I think that would literally have to happen over my dead body.”

We share a laugh and as the car begins to drive off I close my eyes and lean my head back, ready to go to sleep and put an end to this night.

 

 

Of course, the plan is not for us to go to sleep. That is not why they have us make our exit at midnight instead of whenever the food and wine runs out. We are taken to a luxurious hotel suite in which the focal point is a large bed with rose petals strewn over it and a bottle of champagne standing in ice on the nightstand. On top of the bed sits a bag with my name on it and I can guess what is in it. Peeta and I share an awkward look and neither one of us knows what to say.

“I’ll get rid of the petals” says Peeta finally.

“Do you think they gave us toothbrushes?” I ask. “If so I’m going to go get ready for bed.”

“Do that” nods Peeta and walks over to the bed.

I follow behind him and pick up the bag, carrying it with me into the bathroom. Once the door is closed behind me I fish out a beautiful set of white silk lingerie that looks very expensive and which I’m not even sure how to put on, or if Peeta would know how to get it off me. I blush at the thought that this might be Cinna’s handiwork. It may not bother me to be naked in front of my prep team but having Cinna create clothes for me to wear on my wedding night is too intimate for my taste.

I put the garments back in the bag. I have no intention of wearing them tonight, or ever.

Ten minutes later I walk back out into the bedroom where Peeta has removed all the rose petals and placed them in a neat stack on the vanity. When I enter he is busy removing the bedspread, folding it carefully which is no easy feat given how large it is. He doesn’t notice me at first and puts the bedspread aside, grabbing the end of one of the comforters to pull it down.

“Peeta” I say.

He looks up at me and the look of complete surprise on his face almost makes me smile. Then his face turns red and he looks away. I am not wearing anything, standing before him completely naked, which is a sight he has never been privy too before.

“Peeta look at me” I urge gently.

He does not oblige. I walk closer to him but he holds up a hand to stop me.

“Katniss please...” he stammers, his face still bright red. “You don’t have to do this. _We_ don’t have to do this. We’ve done what was expected of us and now it’s up to you and me to decide what happens from here on out.”

I step even closer and stop right in front of him. My hand reaches up and caresses his cheek.

“Look at me” I whisper.

His eyes meet mine and stay firmly locked there, determined not to rest anywhere else on my body even though he has my permission. He swallows hard and licks his lips.

“Katniss...”

“I want to have a normal life and experience what everybody else experiences. Why should we deny ourselves what other couples share on their wedding night?” It’s hard to keep my voice steady since I’m so nervous I barely know what I am saying but I am determined to do this. For Peeta, because I need to make him happy, and for myself. “Sex is supposed to be one of the best things in life” I continue, watching his face grow even redder at the mention of the word. “I want to have that in my life. I think you do, too.”

“Katniss we are not like other couples” mumbles Peeta.

“President Snow wants to control us” I say, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing my body to his. “Like he controls everybody else. He wants to punish us for what we did in the arena. He thinks he’s accomplished that by this whole arrangement, in his own, twisted way. I can think of no better way of sticking it to him than by being happy. We can be happy, Peeta. We can at least try. You and me together, we can make this marriage something that we thrive on. So let’s not deny ourselves anything just because of the circumstances. I want this. I know you do, too. Let’s be as happy as we could possibly be.”

He hesitates for a moment but then he wraps his arms around my waist and kisses me hard, with a lot of pent-up hunger and longing. I begin to tear at his clothes and we lose momentum since it turns out to be more difficult than we thought to get his ensemble off. When I try to pull the tie up over his face and get it caught on his nose Peeta begins to laugh and gently nudges me away to give himself room to remove it properly.

“It’s probably easiest if I remove everything above the waist” he says. He tosses the tie on the floor and begins to work on the cufflinks. “Not quite what I envisioned for my wedding night when I was younger, but then again I didn’t think I would have been dressed by Portia and her wondrous love of things that are hard to get off in a pinch.”

Feeling a bit awkward at just standing there I begin to tug at his shirt to free it from his pants. Peeta sets one of the cufflinks down on the bedside table and then helps me out by unbuckling his belt. While he removes the other cufflink I run my hands inside his shirt and smile at the hiss I get in response. I want to make everything up to him, not the least of which being the way I’ve made him feel unwanted, so any sign that he is enjoying this means I’m doing something right for a change.

When his shirt is off he wraps his arms around me and locks me in a slow kiss. I vaguely recall the sloppy, eager kisses from our first time and marvel at how in control of himself he seems this time around. I let my right hand wrap around his neck while the left runs up and down his chest and he seems to like it. His hands tentatively travel down my waist and his fingers fleetingly touch my behind but then quickly go away again before I can get a chance to feel nervous or uncomfortable.

I close my eyes and focus on the kisses while Peeta stumbles to get the rest of his clothes off. It turns out to be an impractical arrangement so we break apart and I crawl under the covers, waiting for him to join me. He sits on the edge of the bed with his back to me while he gets the rest of his clothes off in a hurry and I’m glad I can’t see anything much except his back. I close my eyes when he begins to turn and don’t open them until I feel his touch under the covers.

I thought I could do this but I quickly realize that it’s not as easy as I thought, or as I remember it to be. Peeta doesn’t do anything without asking my permission, which in itself gets a bit annoying after a few minutes, especially since I’m determined that we should do this. At first it’s just a little awkward and I can’t seem to relax but I’m doing quite alright until our bodies join and a sea of painful memories wash over me.

I stiffen and Peeta immediately stops and asks if I’m alright. I nod and mumble something about wanting him to kiss my neck, which he does and I can roll my head the other way and close my eyes so he doesn’t see my discomfort. It’s not physical; I don’t feel any pleasure but it’s not painful either. But all I can think of is the last time we did this and the events that followed. When Peeta reaches his peak a few minutes later it takes all I’ve got not to cry since the last time I experienced this feeling a baby was conceived. My resolve falters and I begin to wonder if I can ever do this without thinking about that child.

Peeta rolls off me and onto his back. It takes me a moment to gather my composure and open my eyes. When I do I roll my head the other way to look at him and I’m surprised to find him looking sad.

“Katniss, please...” says Peeta without looking at me. “Let’s not do this again.” The request surprises me enough that I can’t think of an answer and when I haven’t replied in almost a minute he turns his head slightly and looks at me. “You hate it.”

“I don’t hate it” I truthfully object.

“You’re _crying_.”

Not until he points it out do I notice that a few tears actually have fallen down my cheeks. Quickly I wipe them away and place a hand on his chest but it only makes him recoil.

“I don’t hate it” I insist. “It takes a while sometimes before the woman can enjoy it. My mother told me so. We just need to get over that--”

“I don’t want to just keep going and hope that one day you might find it better than unpleasant” says Peeta rather harshly and I feel terrible for making something that should be special turn into yet another source of unhappiness and guilt for him. “Do you think _I_ get any enjoyment out of practically...” He pauses and searches for the right word to continue with. “I feel like I’m forcing myself on you.”

“You’re not. I was the one who initiated it.”

“I’m not sure you did it for the right reasons.”

“Peeta...”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore” he says, eyes turning back to the ceiling. “Let’s just go to sleep. I think the only way to make this bearable for us is to try and preserve our friendship and if we are to do that then we can’t keep trying this.”

Slowly I lay my head down on his chest and while he tenses up at first he allows me to stay like that. Why is it that no matter what I do I only end up hurting him? My goal was to make him happy and to let us both live full lives. I meant what I told him before, that the best way of spiting President Snow would be for us to be as happy as we could be. Right now Peeta is as far from happy and as usual it’s because of me.

“I’m really sorry, Peeta” I tell him. “It’s not fair. You’re the best person I have ever known, save, possibly, Prim. You have such kindness, such inner strength, such a good character. You’re devoted, you’re considerate, you’re... you’re a wonderful person through and through.”

“There’s no need for praise I don’t deserve” argues Peeta.

“You do deserve it.” I lift my head up to look him in the eye. “You deserve this praise and more. More than anything you deserve to settle down with somebody you adore, who adores you back, and have all the happiness in the world. You should have gotten to marry out of love. It’s not fair that you should have to throw your future away on this charade.”

“It’s a nice thought, but you can’t have it both ways” says Peeta. “The only girl I love is you and you don’t feel the same way. The question is which one of us actually drew the shorter straw. Besides, this _is_ a marriage based on love. You came up with it to save your family.”

Since I don’t know how to respond to that I lean down and kiss him.

“I’m serious, Peeta...” I mumble against his lips. “I don’t want to have my whole life be a charade and our marriage empty. You deserve more than that. _I_ deserve more than that.”

“Let’s not talk any more about it tonight” says Peeta.

“Okay” I nod.

I lay my head back down and his arm sneaks around my waist. It’s good to be back in his arms, despite everything that’s happened. My eyes drift shut and I feel tiredness wash over me. It’s been such a long day with so much happening.

In the last moments before I fall asleep, when I’m in that state of half-dreaming, half-awake, I imagine being a real family with Peeta and the baby we share.

 

 

We make no further mention of sex during the following two weeks, during which we are kept in the Capitol for what feels like a never ending string of parties held in our honour. If we had thought we would be left alone after the wedding we were very much mistaken. What’s worse is that our families are sent back to Twelve and Haymitch is sent back with them. I see Cinna every evening when he brings me a new dress to wear but we never get to talk for more than five minutes at a time. We hardly even see Effie at all, since she is busy working with something else. It’s bizarre to be out in the social life of the Capitol without our usual crew around us.

Each and every party we go to means another crowd of excited Capitol citizens who didn’t get an invitation to the wedding but who paid good money to attend one of the following parties. I find it tedious at best to shake hands with them and hear them fawn over our bliss but luckily both Peeta and I are more relaxed now that the pressure of the upcoming wedding is behind us and we can play our roles as happy newlyweds to near perfection.

There is a knot in the pit of my stomach any time someone mentions how much we must be looking forward to having children. On a few occasions young couples tell us how they can relate to our longing for children since they themselves have become parents recently. These are the moments I hate the most but simultaneously I am drawn to them. I can’t help but wonder if one of these couples are the adoptive parents and if so I might be talking to my child’s new mother and father. Peeta notices my odd reaction but for whatever reason chooses to say nothing, even when we are in private.

We spend every night in each other’s arms and I find I’m sleeping better than I have in months. The connection I feel to Peeta, from the ties we both feel and the one he is unaware of, makes his closeness comforting, and nobody can help me calm down from a nightmare or even understand how they make me feel other than him. I remember how badly I longed for him to be with me many of the nights I was in the Capitol last year and I seek out his closeness now that he is right there beside me. My very genuine desire to be near him and the comfort I feel from his presence has an effect on him too. Gradually we begin to find our way back to the way things were during the Victory Tour.

When the two weeks are over we are taken to the train station, a large crowd of Capitol citizens waving us off, and once we have boarded the train we’re shown to our compartment. We walk inside and find another bed covered in rose petals, prompting us to share a look. Peeta then fights to contain a laugh and smirks at me.

“You don’t suspect they have cameras in these rooms, do you?”he asks me.

I can’t help but laugh and together we unceremoniously shove the petals off the bed and throw ourselves down on the bedspread, one from each side so that we end up lying with my feet by Peeta’s head and vice versa.

“They’re getting stingy” I comment. “Where’s our champagne?”

“They’re probably hurt because we didn’t drink the last bottle.”

“Yeah, but still. We could have given it to Haymitch. Or gotten drunk ourselves for a change.”

“Maybe there’s something else to drink” suggests Peeta, sitting up and bouncing off the bed to go on a hunt. “Come to think of it I’ve never really seen you drunk. It would be a fun experience.”

“It would not” I argue through a chuckle.

“No?” He shoots me a grin over his shoulder as he kneels to raid the small refrigerator. “Why not? Do you behave unsuitably when you’re drunk?”

“Would you mind if I did?” I shoot back.

“That depends on your definition of ‘unsuitably’. If your bow and arrows are involved I think I’d rather not be part of it.” He rises with his arms full of bottles. “Looks like they left us something to make the journey back more pleasant.”

I lift myself up on my elbows and grin.

“Bring it over here, then.”

He tosses me a bottle and I catch it with one hand. Full of excitement to see what he’s planned for us to get drunk, or at least tipsy, on I turn the bottle to check the label and a groan escapes my lips.

“Not to the lady’s satisfaction?”

“This is orange juice, Peeta” I complain. “How am I supposed to get tipsy on this?”

“Behave yourself” chastises Peeta with his best impression of Effie. “I’m not sure I dare to have you get drunk around me when we still haven’t cleared up whether or not you get hunt-happy with booze in your system.”

“I honestly don’t know” I shrug. “To be honest with you, I’ve never been drunk.”

“To be honest with you, neither have I.”

“What?” I snort. “You’ve never been drunk before?”

“Are you crazy?” replies Peeta, getting up on the bed. “If my mother had caught me drunk she would have lost it.”

I wonder what that would have entailed, as his voice implies that it would be something worse than the ordinary, which is bad enough from what I’ve seen. Before I can think too much about it Peeta plops down next to me and drops the collection of bottles, five in total, on the bed next to him.

“If you don’t want orange juice perhaps I can tempt you with some cider?” he offers. “It has some alcohol in it but probably not enough to get Prim drunk.”

“Prim is never getting drunk” I say sternly.

Peeta just chuckles and hands me a cider. He opens one for himself, clinks it to mine and we spend the rest of the evening drinking cider and relaxing. I end up falling asleep with my head on Peeta’s shoulder, still on top of the covers. I definitely don’t mind the part of marriage that means he is there whenever I need him and that I don’t have to face my nightmares alone.

 

 

It’s stranger than I can say to return to the Victors’ Village and not return to the house I’ve lived in since the 74th Games. For the first few hours I feel like I’m merely visiting Peeta, even when Prim and my mother come over with boxes filled with my clothes. I don’t have much else to bring over that is mine. Most of the furniture, all of the decorations and the majority of the books came with the house and very little belonged to me before moving in.

While Prim and I unpack my mother helps Peeta make dinner. I stay as far away from the kitchen as I can, convinced that it must be really awkward between them right now even though they’re not strangers to one another and they have shared meals before. Now they’re mother-in-law and son-in-law and that can’t be a comfortable situation for either one of them. While we’re eating Prim asks a dozen questions about our stay in the Capitol after the wedding, wanting to know all about the parties and the people and the events. Then she looks at me and gives me a smile that makes me realize how much I have missed her.

“I’m a little sad that you won’t be coming home with us, Katniss” she tells me. “But I know you’ll have a great time living with Peeta. Besides, you’re only a few yards away.”

“She’ll be running over to see you all the time” assures her Peeta and rises with his plate in his hands. “If nobody minds I’ll have some more.”

“Just don’t have _too_ great a time living with Peeta” says my mother pointedly. “Not for a few more years, at least.”

“Mother!” I exclaim.

“On second thought, I don’t want seconds” says Peeta, sitting back down with a very uncomfortable look on his face.

“I’m just saying, you’re both no older than seventeen” says Mother. “I don’t want you doing anything improper. Married or not.”

I let out an offended snort while Peeta downs half a glass of water and Prim’s eyes dart from one person to the next.

“What we do is none if your business!” I tell my mother in a sharp voice.

“You’re still children” argues Mother.

“We’re old enough to kill each other for other people’s entertainment” I argue back. “I think we’re more than adult enough to have sex if we want to.”

By now Prim’s jaw has dropped and my mother, Peeta and myself seem to be in a competition over whose face can turn the reddest.

“Haymitch is going to be so upset that he missed this” groans Peeta, rising from the table. “This is not a conversation I’m prepared to have, certainly not with Prim at the table.”

“Why not?” asks Prim, shocking me by apparently finding the subject interesting.

“If you’ll excuse me, I haven’t called my family yet to tell them that I’m back” says Peeta and leaves the room in a hurry. I stare at his back with disbelief until he’s out of sight, then I turn to my mother with eyes that could kill.

“How dare you say something like that to us?” I demand to know. “It is none of your business whether we... consummate the marriage or not.”

“Katniss, just because you were forced to marry one another does not mean you’re ready to take that step” says Mother calmly, seeming more at ease now that Peeta has left the room and she’s only dealing with me. “You may think you are adults and I will be the first to admit that you’ve both certainly been forced to grow up far too early but do you really think you’re ready to bear children? District 12 has no safe methods of birth control available and once you let him enjoy that part of married life he’s not going to want to give it up to prevent conception.”

I should protest at the suggestion that Peeta would ever pressure me into having sex, for any reason at all, but I barely hear the words as they come out of her mouth. All it took was the mention of bearing children and my mind went somewhere else entirely. Prim says something I don’t hear and my mother replies. I’m barely aware they’re still there, lost in my own thoughts and the painful memories. My silence seems to please my mother, who takes it as a sign that I think she’s right. She gets up and begins to clear the table with Prim’s help while I remain sitting, thinking of my child. Eventually Prim comes over and wraps her arms around my shoulders, bringing me back to the present.

“Don’t mind her” whispers Prim. “Peeta would never force you to do anything you don’t want to do. And when you do feel ready you will be an awesome mother.”

She kisses my cheek and takes my plate away. I get up and grab an empty salad bowl and bring it over to the counter where my mother is doing the dishes.

“You have a big house” says my mother and takes the bowl with a smile. “You can sleep in your own beds and you--”

“He’s my husband” I cut her off. “I will sleep in the same bed as he does. And the marriage was consummated on the wedding night.”

Without waiting for a reply, or even a reaction, I leave the room. I don’t even care that it’s my house we’re in and they are the guests. They can finish the dishes, or don’t, and then leave us alone. A sentiment I relay to Peeta moments later after walking into him in the hallway.

“No, Katniss” says Peeta softly. “I’ll go do the dishes. This is our first evening back. You shouldn’t be fighting with your mother.”

“What are you siding with her for?” I complain.

He shrugs and goes to the kitchen. Maybe my mother thought I was lying before because she doesn’t seem to throw a fit at him. He takes over the washing up and my mother walks out into the hallway where I stand with my arms crossed over my chest and a grumpy look on my face. She just gives me a look that makes me even more annoyed and then adds insult to injury when she opens her mouth.

“The day when you become a mother you will understand. Especially the day you have a daughter.” She reaches out a hand and moves a strain of hair away from my face. “It’s not appropriate, Katniss. I don’t care if you are married. We all know that your true feelings are not with Peeta, anyway.”

“So I should just not have a life, then?” I retort.

“You should. But not _that_ kind of life. Not yet.”

She then announces that she’s leaving and that Prim should come home within an hour. When she’s gone I groan and walk into the kitchen where Prim and Peeta are doing the dishes and laughing about something. They look at me when I walk in and Peeta takes the last plate from Prim and puts it up in the cupboard.

“I was just asking Peeta what you will do with all the wedding gifts you received from the Capitol” says Prim.

“Kick you and Mom out of the house and use it as storage” I reply.

“That’s almost what I said” laughs Peeta. “Except in my version we’re kicking Haymitch out.”

“I was thinking Mom and Prim could move in with him” I shrug, grabbing an apple from the bowl on the counter.

“She would have a fit!” giggles Prim.

“Well, the dishes are done” announces Peeta, even though it’s obvious to see. “I’m going to leave you two alone. You’ve seen more than enough of me lately, Katniss, but not nearly enough of your sister. Prim, I’ll see you some other time.”

He leaves the kitchen and I sit back down at the table, Prim taking a seat opposite me.

“What a lovely first night home” I say dryly, taking a large bite from the apple.

“I hope Mom won’t be like that the day _I_ get married” says Prim, and the very thought of Prim doing what Peeta and I have done gives me a sudden understanding for what my mother was saying.

“You know what?” I say, putting aside the apple. “Let’s not talk about it. I want to hear what you’ve been up to, little duck.”

 

 

After Prim has left I go the living room and find Peeta sitting on the couch with a pad resting against his thighs and a pencil in his hand. He hears me walking in and looks up with a small smile.

“Hey. Prim went home?”

“Yeah” I nod, walking over to the fireplace where Peeta has started a fire. I love the cackling sound and the homely feel it brings though it’s strange to think that it’s _my_ fireplace now, too. Almost as strange as it was to realize that the fireplace in the other house was mine as well. “I’m sorry about my mother.”

“Don’t worry about it” answers Peeta quickly. “She’s just protective.”

“She picked an odd time to start being protective of me” I say. “It would have been nicer if she had started around the time my father died.”

Peeta puts his pad away and I walk over to the couch, taking a seat next to him. He shrugs his shoulders and does his best to look like it’s no big deal.

“You’re not always the easiest person to worry about, you know” he says. “You don’t often let us worry.”

“Either way, what she said was out of line” I reply, putting my feet up next to me on the couch. “This is our house. The last time we were in it, it was just _yours_. She shouldn’t talk to either one of us like that in this house.”

“It’s fine, Katniss.”

I rest my head on his shoulder and sigh. It would be a lot easier to make Peeta happy if my family didn’t start pulling stunts like this out of the left field. After sitting there for about ten minutes, watching the fire cackle, I kiss him on the cheek and announce that it’s getting late.

“We’ve had a long day. Maybe we should go to bed.”

“That might be best” answers Peeta. “Tomorrow we’re having dinner with _my_ family. We’ll probably need to rest up for that.”

“What?” I frown.

“Don’t look so shocked, Katniss, I’ve had dinner with them at least once a week since I moved here. They’re my family.”

“Do we both have to go?” I ask.

“Would seem a bit odd otherwise, don’t you think?” He stands up and walks over to put the fire out. “Look on the bright side. My mother’s not going to have anything to say about us having sex.”

“That’s true” I agree. “And for that I’m very grateful.”

I rise from the couch and follow Peeta upstairs. There’s an awkward moment when we can’t agree on who should go change and brush their teeth first, which shouldn’t even warrant a discussion since it’s never been a problem in the past. Once we are both in our nightclothes and the covers have been pulled down I put my hands on Peeta’s shoulders and kiss him.

He returns the kiss softly but seems to think of it as nothing more than a chaste kiss goodnight. I have other plans, determined to give him as much as I can give and make his life as good as it can be. He doesn’t seem very eager, worried that he will hurt me, but once we’re under the covers and I’m showing more enthusiasm than the last time he begins to kiss me and touch me more passionately. I still find it difficult not to think about the baby when our bodies join together but it’s easier than the last time and I find there’s a certain connection between Peeta and me this time around. It still doesn’t feel pleasurable per se but it’s nice somehow and the look on Peeta’s face makes me feel like I’m doing something right.

Afterward he rests next to me and looks more content than on our wedding night.

“See?” I say. “I told you it would get better.”

He turns his head and looks at me.

“Still not _good_ , though. Not for you.”

“We’ll get there” I tell him with a smile. I snuggle closer and he sighs contently. “Until we do, let’s keep trying.”

 

 

I’m more uncomfortable than I care to admit when Peeta and I leave our house the next afternoon to head into town and have dinner with his family. We joked about it last night but I know he would take offense if he knew that I really don’t want to spend an evening having dinner with his family. His father is a very nice man but he doesn’t say much and I’ve barely spoken two words with Peeta’s brothers and I both fear and dislike his mother. For the life of me I can’t understand why Peeta seems attached to her when I know she speaks harshly to him and hits him on occasion. However, for the sake of unity and a bearable future I have to try and enjoy the company of the whole family.

It’s too bad I don’t make friends very easy. My new mother-in-law has always seemed to despise me and I doubt I will have any success at changing that. I don’t know if her dislike comes from her husband having once wanted to marry my mother or from her youngest son being so devoted to me or from me rummaging through their garbage when I was eleven. Maybe it’s all those things combined. Either way I’m not likely to be welcomed with open arms. As for my brothers-in-law, the eldest is brooding and quiet and probably much like his mother once you get to know him. The younger is more cheerful but he teases Peeta a little too often for me to be comfortable hearing it. Not that I don’t understand siblings teasing one another but there is a time and place for it.

“We’re not going to be late, are we?” I ask worriedly when we’re halfway to town. “Your mother hates when people are late.”

“I think we’re going to be early” answers Peeta.

I look down at my feet and try to think of something else to say to start up a conversation. Peeta seems a million miles away but I need something to distract myself from the thoughts of my in-laws dislike for me.

“What if I can’t find a single thing to talk about at dinner?” I mutter. “What if I just sit there silently and chew my food?”

“Then at least you won’t say anything inappropriate.”

“You think I would?” I say nervously.

“No. I was joking. Relax, Katniss. It’s not like you’ve never met them before.”

“They don’t like me very much” I can’t help but point out.

“Give them some leeway” says Peeta. “They didn’t really know much about you until you were that girl who was more than willing to kill me to save herself in the Hunger Games.”

“I was never ‘more than willing’!” I exclaim.

“Fine, but you would have if you had to. Don’t try to argue with me on that; it’s the very nature of the Games.”

“I didn’t kill you” I point out. “I found you by the river. We made it out of the Games together. They should like me, then.”

“They do like you” says Peeta with a smile. “You shouldn’t be nervous. You’ll do great.”

“Yes, because we both know how sociable I am” I mutter.

“You won me over, didn’t you? Not to mention all of Panem.”

“That was _your_ doing.”

“In that case I should be able to do the same with my family, shouldn’t I?”

I’m far from convinced but I let the subject drop. I’m not actually sure what I expect Peeta to do to help me around his family but if there is anything he can do he’s probably going to think of it before I do. I never have to doubt his loyalty.

We arrive at the bakery and Peeta has a hearty reunion with his brothers and his father. His mother’s greeting is more subdued but she does seem pleased to have him back. I get a warm hug and an even warmer welcome from my new father-in-law and Peeta’s brothers both seem to want me to feel welcome as well. From Mrs. Mellark I feel nothing but icy disdain but I decide that if the rest of them accept me I can live without her friendship.

Since I know I’m no good at making conversation with people I don’t know very well I offer to help with dinner, thereby making myself useful without having to put more than three words together. Cooking is not my forte by any stretch of the imagination but I can follow simple instructions at least. All six of us end up in the kitchen at the same time, which would have led to chaos if it had been in the Hawthorne’s home but here it seems like they’re used to preparing food all together at once. Which makes sense, I suppose, since they all bake together for a living. Once dinner is ready and we sit down to eat I begin to feel that maybe the evening won’t be so terrible after all. Which is of course the moment when Peeta’s mother decides to open her mouth.

“The wedding was a spectacle” she declares. “Though I suppose that if you want to put on a show for all of Panem you might as well do it with style.”

“Yeah, that is the Capitol way” says Peeta, slightly uncomfortably.

“It bothers me that it was all built on the traditions they have in the Capitol” mutters Mrs. Mellark. “You’re District 12 people and you should have a District 12 wedding.”

“Yes” nods Peeta, not bothering to point out that there are probably no people in the Capitol who know about District 12 traditions, and even if they did, those traditions would seem far too lowly for the occasion.

“Was there even a proper toasting?” asks Mrs. Mellark.

“No” I say, blowing lightly on my spoon full of soup.

“We’ll have to arrange that, then.”

“No toasting, Mother” objects Peeta carefully.

“Don’t be ridiculous” she snorts in reply. “I don’t care about Capitol traditions. Without a toasting ceremony it’s not a proper marriage.”

“Yes, exactly” answers Peeta.

Everybody freezes and for a few seconds you could hear a pin drop. I feel my cheeks turn bright red and I focus on eating my soup. Peeta meets his mother’s eyes calmly and for a moment I worry that she might have an unfavourable reaction. As much as she seems to despise me she doesn’t seem fond of the idea of her youngest son not being “properly” married.

The tension is broken, at least somewhat, by Mr. Mellark asking his eldest son about something or other that has to do with the bakery. No further mention to our wedding, or our marriage, is made during the rest of the meal. When we have finally finished eating I immediately offer to help clearing the table, eager to have something to do. Unfortunately that lands me alone in the kitchen with Mrs. Mellark, as Peeta gets dragged away by one of his brothers and Mr. Mellark has trouble getting a fire going and needs the help of Peeta’s other brother.

For the first few minutes there’s not a sound heard other than the splash of water and the clinking of plates, glasses and cutlery. Then Mrs. Mellark gives me a side-eye glance that makes me want to crawl out of my skin but I am starting to feel a desire not to let her intimidate me.

“He’s too good for you, you know” she tells me coldly.

“I know” I answer.

“Don’t get me wrong, the boy’s a complete idiot. Throwing his life away for some lowly girl from the Seam... I tried and I tried and I tried to put some sense into that head of his but he seems determined to remain a fool.”

“Maybe he wouldn’t be so good if he were different” I counter, carefully drying a plate with a towel that has now gotten pretty damp. “He didn’t want to be in the Games any more than I did but he kept his goodness all the way through it _because_ he was willing to put someone else’s life above his own. When do you ever see that in the Hunger Games?”

“I’m not talking about the Hunger Games” says Mrs. Mellark icily.

“Oh...”

“This so-called marriage. I had hoped you had at least some form of feelings for him but I should have known better. It won’t be long before it’s common knowledge that the whole thing is a sham and the rest of us will have to live with the embarrassment.” She hands me a glass and gives me yet another ice cold look while I bite my tongue to keep myself from telling her that embarrassment will be the least of our concerns if the true nature of mine and Peeta’s marriage is revealed. “He could have had any respectable girl he wanted” continues Mrs. Mellark. “Maybe you needed to be married to him to keep up appearances but this arrangement does nothing for him.” She then sniggers. “Then again, if he is stupid enough to agree to take you then maybe he deserves all the misfortune it will bring him.”

I am too stunned to reply. I shut my mouth tightly and try to force myself not to turn red. Thankfully Mr. Mellark chooses that moment to walk in to the kitchen and while it doesn’t brighten his wife’s spirits at least it keeps her from making any further comment.

“Katniss, you shouldn’t be stuck with the dishes!” objects Mr. Mellark. “You may be part of the family now but you’re still a guest and you’ve done more than enough.”

“Indeed” mutters his wife.

“Go back outside” says Mr. Mellark to me, nodding to the living room. “I’ll finish up with the dishes. Go on.”

I nod and hand over the towel. Without another look at my mother-in-law I hurry back out to the living room where Peeta’s brother is poking around in the fireplace. He doesn’t acknowledge me and I sit down on the couch without knowing where to look and what to do. When Peeta walks in with his other brother a few minutes later I nearly exhale out loud with relief. He sits down next to me and seems to notice my discomfort because he tells his brothers we can’t stay much longer.

“Of course not” grins the younger of the brothers. “Newlyweds have a lot to do behind closed doors... Well, except you two, I guess.”

Peeta gives his brother a look and wraps an arm around my waist. I wonder if all dinners at the Mellarks’ will be this relaxed and joyful.

Half an hour later we are walking back home and Peeta apologises for making things awkward during dinner.

“No, that’s fine” I assure him. “You were right. A toasting wouldn’t seem right.”

“No, it wouldn’t” sighs Peeta. “Besides, who needs it? It’s just a tradition. A piece of burnt bread is not what makes two people married.”

“You’re a baker and you burn bread when you toast it?”

“I’ve been known to burn a loaf of bread every now and then.”

I smile a little and stick my arm under his. We walk the rest of the way in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was probably a little uneven and disorganized but given my productivity level this past year it's an alright chapter.
> 
> I decided not to give Peeta's brothers names, at least not yet. Rumor has it we'll get an official name for at least one of them when "Catching Fire" is out in November so maybe I'll go back and put that name in then.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katniss and Peeta adjust to married life and endure the 76th annual Hunger Games.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some sexual content, though nothing graphic.

Married life turns out to be quite alright. Peeta and I get along well and after some initial problems of adjusting to an everyday life in each other’s constant company it’s a pretty comfortable existence. He could care less if I go hunting so long as I’m careful and he never asks where I’m off to or who I’m going to see. Peeta spends part of his time decorating cakes for his father and a lot of his time working on his paintings. Every night before bed he makes dough which he then bakes in the morning. Freshly baked bread for breakfast is a luxury I never imagined I would enjoy and I insist on having Prim and my mother over almost every morning so they can have their share.

Shortly after our return to Twelve I wake up one day to realize it’s at least an hour past when I usually get up in the morning. I’ve slept in, probably because I had two really bad nightmares in a row that night, and Peeta let me sleep when he got up. I get out of bed, pull a robe around me and walk down the stairs where the lovely smell of pastries baking fills the air. I can’t help the excited smile that spreads across my face. Peeta hasn’t baked anything sweet yet since I’ve moved in and I love the way it smells.

In the kitchen there are bowls on the counter, oven trays on the kitchen island and paper muffin cups sitting in a large stack by the stove. Peeta is busy putting a tray full of muffins into the oven while a freshly baked set rests on top of the stove, smelling so wonderful that it makes my mouth water. Peeta is wearing slacks and a black t-shirt plus an apron that looks like it’s been bathed in flour. The sight makes me smile. It’s not often I see him actually baking. I’m usually busy with other things while he works in the kitchen.

“Smells delicious” I say.

He looks up, slightly startled by my voice, and gives me a smile.

“Let’s hope” he says, closing the oven.

I walk over to him and give him a kiss. My mother always gave my father a kiss when he came down for breakfast and it seems like an appropriate thing for a wife to do. I only intend for it to be a brief kiss good-morning but somehow it ends up lingering for a second longer than it needs to.

“I’m surprised” I say, attempting to cover that I’m blushing slightly. “I thought a baker cooking up pastries would taste sweeter.”

“I don’t eat the batter” chuckles Peeta.

“Can I?” I ask after a second’s hesitation, glancing over at the bowls on the counter. I’ve always been curious what it would taste like.

“Sure” he laughs. “Go ahead and lick the bowl.”

I walk over and grab a plastic dough scraper, scooping up the pale yellow batter from one of the bowls and putting as much of it as I can in my mouth. It tastes delicious and I catch myself  “mmm”-ing with delight.

“No not from _that_ bowl!” objects Peeta and walks over, grabbing the scraper from my hands. “Lick the _empty_ bowl.” He points a finger at me and gives his best Effie Trinket impersonation. “ _Manners_!”

I laugh and wrap an arm around his neck. He leans in and kisses me under the pretence of wanting to taste some of the batter as well and I find myself thoroughly enjoying the way his tongue slowly moves in my mouth. When we break apart he does the “manners” thing again and with a smirk hands me one of the empty bowls instead for me to scrape up what’s left of the batter.

I take a seat by the kitchen island and get to work, declaring it the best breakfast I’ve ever had. He laughs, shakes his head and tells me I’m unsuitable for proper company. I can’t help but giggle and feel a warm sense of happiness spread through me. Right now he’s happy and any instant where I can be the cause of that is an infinitely small yet very real bit of compensation for giving his child away to Capitol strangers.

 

 

Two nights a week we eat with my family, one night in our house and one night in theirs. Once a week we have dinner with Peeta’s family, though whenever I can think of an excuse to not go I gladly take it. We usually eat with Haymitch a couple of nights a week as well and I find myself enjoying those dinners a lot. There’s a strange form of comfort in being the three of us together, like a family of its own. The only people I would like to have dinner with but never get the chance to are the Hawthornes. Peeta would probably not object if I invited them but I doubt Gale would show up. It was awkward enough the one night I had dinner with them in January after coming back from the Capitol, and Peeta wasn’t even there for that meal.

Many nights after we’ve gone to bed Peeta and I continue with our fumbling attempts at having sex. Surprisingly soon I begin to find it rather pleasant. By February I begin to long for it, crave it even, and we engage in the activity at least a few nights every week. Once Peeta sees that I’m enjoying myself he relaxes, which in turn makes it more enjoyable for me as well. He gets more bold in his touches and I begin to take a more active role as well. Usually I wrap my arms around him, my hands coming up to rest by his neck, and my legs wrapping around his waist while I follow his rhythm. The look of lust and adoration on Peeta’s face makes me feel desirable and it eases my guilty conscience that I seem to be succeeding in making him happy.

I no longer think about our baby when we’re intimate. That’s not to say the baby is ever far from my thoughts. There’s a persistent aching and longing in me that I don’t think will ever go away, though part of me fears that it will. Sometimes at night when Peeta has gone to sleep I lay awake and cry, wondering what our life would be like now if I had made a different choice. Somewhere in the back of my mind I know that I might end up having to make a choice again before long, because the injection I was given only lasts until August. After that I will have to either take my chances or go back to a more chaste relationship with my husband. I’m grateful that Peeta doesn’t mind me going off to the woods because when I’m out there all alone I can think about my child as much as I want to and cry over the child as much as I need to. It gets easier to bear as time goes on but there are some days when I don’t want to do anything or talk to anyone except Gale, and only talk to him about the child. It seems impossible that just a year ago the baby was still inside of me and it’s only been a little bit more than half a year since I held the little child in my arms.

Sometimes I can’t hide my sadness when I’m at home but thankfully Peeta never asks me about it. He offers me comfort in whatever way he can think of and at first I shy away from it because I feel terrible being comforted by him in this matter but after a while I find there’s something very soothing about having his arms around me when I long for our child.

On the days when I’m feeling better Peeta and I can laugh together and go for long walks together and lie awake at night and talk for hours. Little by little I begin to feel a deeper friendship forming between us. Things I used to turn to Gale with I now feel like I can talk to Peeta about when we lie there together, our two heads sharing one pillow. We talk about everything from our childhoods to things that happened during the Games to what we hope the future will bring. Some nights we talk about nothing substantial at all, topics ranging from what games we played as children to favourite fruits to what would happen if characters from one book we like would meet the characters from another.

This placid existence comes to an end in May, not long after my eighteenth birthday. It’s time for the 76th annual Hunger Games and my first year as a mentor. Yet another way for President Snow to remind us that we’re never quite out of the arena once we’ve entered it in the first place. Some districts have enough victors that they can take turns being mentors but District 12 only has three. In the future Haymitch can probably step down, or we can take turns all three of us, but right now Peeta and I want him to stay. He has the experience that we lack, he has the connections we lack and he has a whole other understanding of the Games than we do. This will come to Peeta and myself in time but until it does I don’t think any tribute from District 12 would stand the slightest chance without Haymitch being involved.

The Sunday before Reaping Day I go out in the woods to hunt and to my surprise Gale is sitting in our glade. He’s only been here two or three times since my wedding, which I can only take to mean that he’s been avoiding me. He needs to hunt to feed his family and if he’s not in our usual spot that means he’s hunting elsewhere in the woods.

“Gale...” I say when I approach him.

“Hey, there, Catnip” answers Gale without looking up from the snare he’s tying.

“It’s... been a while.”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t say anything else and neither do I. Luckily we don’t have to talk much to hunt together and I don’t mind the silence. I’ve missed Gale’s company and being around him is enough for me at the moment. Frankly I don’t know what we would be talking about. How his family is doing? How my family is doing? How married life is treating me? It’s perhaps easier not to say all that much.

When we sit down to have something to eat we share a look and he gives me a little smile. I smile back and hand him a loaf of bread. Peeta baked it, of course, but Gale doesn’t seem to have any problem with that. He takes it without objection even though it leaves me with no bread at all. We both know I get plenty of it every day so one day without it is hardly a sacrifice.

“So...” says Gale. “I guess we won’t be meeting up on Reaping Day this year?”

“No I suppose not” I say. “The prep teams will arrive early, even though it doesn’t start until two.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about you... and Reaping Day... Call me crazy but I’m more concerned for you than for my brothers and sister.”

“You’re aware I can’t be reaped again, right?” I tease.

“Yeah but either way you have to go to the Capitol. I came out here today to make sure you’re okay. That going back there is okay.”

“It’s not like I have a choice” I point out, taking a bite from the squirrel I’ve just roasted. “I should be used to going there by now.”

“Yeah, maybe” says Gale. “Only it’s not just the place where they prepped you to fight for the death, which would be hard enough on its own.”

He doesn’t continue the thought but I know what he means. I wish I could tell him how happy I am that he came out here today, that we’re having this talk. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately but it’s one of the few things I can never talk to Peeta about.

“It would have always been horrible to have go there and mentor children, at least one of whom is dead for sure and the other one very likely dead as well. I can’t even begin to guess how it will feel now that I have a child of my own... The thought of it scares me, Gale.” With my left hand I use a stick to poke around in the dirt by my feet, anything to not have to look at him right now. It’s hard enough to talk about it without eye contact. “I don’t even know what frightens me more. The thought that it will be ten times more difficult because of my own child or the thought that it won’t be any more difficult at all. I don’t know how I would handle the former and I don’t know what the latter would say about me.”

“Peeta has no idea?” asks Gale. “He doesn’t even suspect?”

“Why should he?” I ask, squinting at Gale through the bright sunshine. “Whatever my reaction is I will have to face it on my own.”

“I wish I could be there with you” sighs Gale. “I wished I could be there with you when you were a tribute, too. What does it say about _me_ that I’m actually glad Peeta can’t be there for you in this case? At least _something_ about you is still mine...”

“That something being Peeta’s child.”

“Yeah.” He laughs a little, thoroughly unhappily. “One of the most annoying things about him is that from what I’ve seen he’s a good person in a way I could never hope to be.”

“He's a better person than any of us could ever hope to be” I agree. “On the other hand you’re stronger and more driven. If your roles had been reversed and he had been left to support his entire family at thirteen I’m not at all sure he would have been able to.”

“Do you know at all what you will be expected to do during the Games?” asks Gale, changing the subject.

“Kiss up to sponsors, I suppose... I can’t imagine I will be any good at that at all.”

“Do you have to watch the entire Games? Like, all day long, all day?”

“I should imagine we have to. How else can we know what our tributes need?” I sigh and shake my head, stretching my legs out in front of me. “I honestly don’t know Gale... Maybe it’s better if our tributes die at the initial bloodbath? If they’re going to die anyway, I mean.”

“Would you not rather have the hope of saving one of them?”

“There is no hope” I say and rise to my feet. “They have a one in twenty-four chance. District 12 has had its share of winners for the next, oh, fifty years or so. The odds are not exactly in our favour.”

 

 

When Reaping Day is here a prep team I haven’t seen before arrives to make sure that we are both presentable. Peeta has told me that our usual prep teams aren’t involved in this, since they’re not actually _our_ prep teams anymore. I make no effort to get to know the new people since they’re only going to prep me this one day. Once we are in the Capitol all efforts will go to helping the tributes make an impression. The mentors’ looks are not important.

I feel almost as nervous this year as I’ve done every year in the past, even though I’m completely safe. Prim’s name is still in there three times but I’m convinced they’re not going to pick her. That would seem a little _too_ strange a coincidence, and besides, Prim has become something of a darling for most of Panem and I don’t think Snow would want to risk kindling any further sparks of civil unrest by throwing her in the arena. In fact, she might not actually have her name on any slates at all.

Once I am prepped and ready I walk down the stairs where Peeta is waiting for me. He looks up at me and smiles appreciatively at my green dress and my hair that has been washed and brushed and tended to enough to make it shine more than ever.

“You look beautiful” he tells me.

“Thanks” I say, blushing slightly. “So do you.”

He takes me by the arm and we walk outside to the waiting car. Haymitch comes stumbling out of his house, traditionally drunk, and gets in the car without a word to either one of us. Peeta leans in and whispers that he’s glad I’m with him this year before we get in as well.

It’s strange to be a part of the reaping from this side of the events. We see the crowds of children as we drive to the back of the justice building and it seems a million years ago since we were last in that crowd ourselves. This year would have been Peeta’s and my last year to be eligible. If the odds had been in our favour we would have been completely free after today.

We’re greeted by an enthusiastic Effie once we arrive and I admit I’m surprised that she’s still stuck with District 12 but at least nowadays she seems quite alright with it. For the moment District 12 is experiencing a surge in popularity and from what I hear there’s even talk among people in the Capitol to come and visit as a tourist. The very thought bothers me to no end but at least I can take some solace in knowing that if they do come here they’re likely to turn on their heels and hurry back to their prettier, cleaner, more colourful world as soon as they possibly can.

Having to view the whole spectacle from up on the stage is a difficult experience. Sitting up there with a drunk Haymitch and a sombre Peeta, knowing that who’s ever name is drawn will be walking up here thinking I can save them is a suffocating feeling. I wonder how long Peeta’s and my popularity will last once people here realize we can’t save their children.

Two names are called. Two people walk up on stage. Alice Lark, a merchant girl who is three years younger than me, and Davy Brown, a twelve year-old from the Seam. I can tell from just looking at them that neither one of them will stand much of a chance.

On board the train Peeta and I try and talk to them over dinner, trying to find something to say or some way of comforting them but they are both crying and not ready to hear any advice we have to give. Effie’s blabbering about how fortunate they are to experience all the luxury on board the train does not help. After dinner we bring them with us to a different compartment where we join Haymitch in front of the TV to watch the recap of the reapings. The career districts are sending volunteers, as always, and this year they seem to be stronger and faster and meaner than ever before. The male tribute from District 5 has a bad left arm and will probably be one of the first ones killed. The female tribute from District 11 is only a year older than Rue was and looks a lot like her. The thought of having to see her die in the arena makes my stomach turn.

The worst part is watching the reaping from District 6. The girl who is reaped is June Helm, daughter of Millie Helm who won the 58th Hunger Games. June is only fourteen years old and as the daughter of a former victor she is bound to be a target for the careers. Haymitch curses loudly when her name is drawn and takes so many deep gulps from his bottle that I worry he might die of alcohol poisoning in the next ten minutes.

He stays, however, and watches to the end of the recap. As mentors it’s beneficial to hear what Caesar and Claudius have to say since it gives us a good indication of what the competition is and what strengths or weaknesses they see in our tributes. Alice seems to be considered a possible contender but Davy is ruled out immediately. I wonder what his family is thinking if they’re watching this.

Once the recap is over all six of us head to bed, though Peeta and I have to support Haymitch all the way to his room and make sure he gets under the covers properly. In lieu of a baby I guess I’ll always have Haymitch to take care of. He seems more than usually bothered this time around, though, which I assume is because of June Helm.

When Peeta and I are in our own room we get ready for bed without much conversation. He seems preoccupied and I can’t say I’m much at ease either. We crawl underneath the covers and Peeta lies back with his head resting on his palms, staring at the ceiling. Haymitch’s reaction to the reapings makes me wonder what is on my husband’s mind. He’s been through this once before.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask.

“Millie Helm.”

“Do you know her?”

“No...” District 6 has five living victors so I assume Millie wasn’t a mentor last year. “No, but Haymitch does.”

“Yeah I guess he knows all victors.”

“I should think so.”

“Do you think Millie will mentor this year?”

“From what I know it’s her turn. Either way I think she would want to.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Really?”

“I would.”

“You would choose to mentor your own child in the arena?”

“At least if I’m mentoring I can do _something_ ” replies Peeta. “Give as much advice as I can, spend every waking moment trying to get sponsors, comfort my kid during training. I don’t think I could abandon my child and stay in Twelve.”

What he says makes sense. As horrible as it would be to have to be in the Capitol and train and mentor your own child I can’t imagine it being any easier back home. Here in the Capitol you would be able to try and help and you would be surrounded by other victors who would be able to relate to what you’re going through.

“Poor Millie” I sigh, full of compassion for the woman who is now living through my worst nightmare.

We lay in silence for a moment. You can barely even hear the sound of the train’s engine as we rush towards the Capitol. After a few minutes Peeta turns his head slightly and looks at me with concerned eyes.

“Hey Katniss...”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been... Are you... I mean, we... Ugh, I can’t seem to find the words.”

“I’ve never known you to be short on words. Must be serious” I attempt to tease but it comes out rather lacklustre.

“I’ve been a little nervous every month” admits Peeta. “Since the wedding. We’re having... I mean there is a risk that we might...”

“Yeah” I say briskly. “We’re not, though. Not now anyway.”

“I always wanted kids. I’m just not sure if I could do it now, you know? Far too many children of victors end up in the arena for it to be some sort of coincidence. Do you think a child of ours could make it to their nineteenth birthday and not have been reaped?”

“No” I sigh. “Not unless he or she has a sibling who goes into the arena. At least one child will have to go in there.”

“That’s what I thought, too.” He laughs a little though there’s no joy in it. “You know, I’ve been beginning to think that maybe there’s something wrong with one of us, or both. Maybe we can’t have children. So far there’s been nothing and we’ve been sleeping together for five months.”

“It can take longer than five months.”

“Yeah but it can also happen on the very first try” says Peeta, thankfully not noticing that I cringe. “I _hope_ we can’t have kids. There’s nothing Snow can do about it if one or both of us are barren. Even he can’t dictate biology.”

“I’ve never wanted kids...” I say faintly, staring up at the ceiling. “Never thought I could stand it on Reaping Day. Now that I’ve been in the arena there’s no way in hell I’m ever letting a child of mine go through that.”

“We won’t have a choice, reapings are reapings” replies Peeta gently, glancing over at me. “Unless we don’t have sex and there are no kids to be reaped, though to be honest with you I’m not sure we would get away with that in the long run. Snow _expects_ us to have children. There’s no better way for him to control us.”

“No indeed” I whisper.

“Plus he wouldn’t be able to resist the great show he would get if the lovechild of the star-crossed lovers from District 12 was forced to walk in their parents’ footsteps.”

“Slaughtering our children for entertainment.”

“It scares me, Katniss. I don’t know what we can do to prevent it from happening.”

“Hold out hope that President Snow will die before we have a child old enough to be reaped?” I suggest wearily.

“The Hunger Games won’t die with Snow.”

“I know...”

Peeta sighs and rolls over on his side, facing me. He talks again about how he thinks maybe one of us is unable to have children and I wonder if I should tell him about the implant I was given back in August. It’s not going to be effective for much longer and after that I don’t know if I’m brave enough to keep sleeping with him. In hindsight my mother was right, I shouldn’t have brought sex into our marriage when I won’t be brave enough to have it when it poses a risk of me actually conceiving. How will I explain that change to Peeta? He will probably not try and persuade me to keep our sexlife alive but if I were him I wouldn’t understand what the problem was all of a sudden. Nor am I looking forward to having to give up sex for my own part.

“How do you think Millie will get through it?” I ask, barely aware that I’m cutting Peeta off mid-sentence.

“I don’t know.”

“How have previous victors gotten through it?”

"All she can do is fight with all her might to help keep her daughter alive. That’s all any of us can do...”

I shift to lie on my side as well, face to face with Peeta.

“You make it sound as if we should all fight to keep June Helm alive.”

“It’s not so unreasonable, is it?” says Peeta. “Victors band together. Many do, anyway. It’s what I learned last year.”

“So to hell with all the other tributes?” I ask, getting upset. “You think we should abandon Davy and Alice?”

“I can’t do that and neither can you. But I think... the day we have a child who becomes a tribute we would want the help of the other victors.”

The implication is not lost to me and when I think about it I realize that it makes a lot of sense. Had you asked me in the first few months after my own Games I would have said that I would fight for my tributes no matter what but now that I have born a child I can see it differently. If forsaking my tributes now and helping Millie keep her daughter alive would benefit my future children if they ever end up in the arena I could probably do it. At the end of the day I put my own family first. I always have and I believe I always will.

“Millie’s daughter being a tribute doesn’t change anything for us” says Peeta. “Not really. I understand why other victors make other choices but I can’t think like they think. I could never abandon our tributes. If they both die early on and June is still alive I will do whatever I can to help her but her being a victor’s daughter does not mean I will forsake our pair. They deserve a chance as much as anyone else.”

“They deserve a chance” I agree. “They do, but our own future children are more important. Peeta don’t get sentimental. We can’t afford to be.”

“Sentimental?” he echoes. “Katniss. We don’t _have_ any children, we might _never_ have children, and I’m not about to abandon those two terrified tributes who were crying in the lounge just a few hours ago! Not for any victor’s child.”

“Even your own?”

“I have no child of my own” repeats Peeta. “I could die childless for all I know and Davy, Alice and all the other tributes we’ll mentor should have our focus being solely on them. Maybe we... Maybe we should just go back to being completely chaste with each other and avoid the risk of having kids altogether. Make this whole debate a non-issue.”

“Can you do that?” I ask.

“Honestly?” He sighs heavily. “It would suck. I really like sleeping with you.”

“I like it too” I say with a little smile.

“But if it comes with abandoning our tributes in favour of the daughter of somebody we’ve never even spoken to, then...” He groans and shakes his head. “Never mind. This whole discussion is moot. Snow _will_ want to see us having kids. If we weren't having sex by choice we'd eventually have to have it by indirect order of the president.”

I roll over on my back and Peeta edges closer, resting his face by my shoulder and wrapping an arm around my waist. Perhaps he’s ready to go to sleep but I’m not. My mind is too focused on the long-term implications of choosing our tributes above Millie’s daughter. Peeta may only be thinking of the tributes we met earlier in the day but I’m thinking of the children we might have to send into the arena. I would sell my soul if that could keep my children safe from the Hunger Games but barring that I would do anything and everything in my power to help them in the arena. Including forsaking Alice and Davy. If that makes me a horrible person I don’t even care. Motherhood trumps decency.

“Maybe we could do both” I suggest.

“Both what?” asks Peeta sleepily.

“Both help our tributes as much as possible and help Millie’s daughter.”

“Unless you can convince Plutarch Heavensbee to allow three victors from two different districts then I don’t see how that would be possible.”

“One of us could help Millie in any way possible and the other could--”

“No Katniss.”

“It’s worth considering!”

“How is that going to accomplish anything? Only one tribute can make it out alive and we’re going to do everything in our might to have it be either Alice or Davy.”

“We can’t afford to think like that.”

“What?” snorts Peeta, sounding upset with me which doesn’t happen nearly as often as I deserve. “Seriously, Katniss, are you hearing yourself?”

I realize it’s better to leave it alone for now so I don’t say anything in reply. Once I’m quiet Peeta soon falls asleep but I don’t feel the least bit tired. All that’s in my head is how the choices we make during these Games will affect us in the future.

When I finally do fall asleep I dream that my baby is being sent into the arena while still a toddler and nobody wants to help me. I turn to every victor I can find but they all refuse me, pointing out that we never helped their children. I wake up from Peeta shaking me and I cling to him in the darkness, unable to get the images from my dream out of my head.

“I dreamed about our... I dreamed we had a baby. Who went into the arena. Nobody wanted to help us.”

Peeta shushes me and tells me it’s alright, that it was only a dream. The problem is that this dream might become reality. I express that thought to Peeta but he doesn’t seem alarmed.

“I don’t think the other victors will hold it against us if we focus on our tributes” he says. “We’re new at this, for one. We barely know the other victors. And we don’t have children. I think that might excuse us.”

I can only hope that he’s right.

 

 

The Capitol is the same as it’s always been. The people there seem almost more interested in Peeta and me than in our tributes, which is rather annoying but at least we only have to deal with the crowds for a few minutes. Being part of the Hunger Games from the role of mentor is a whole new experience and a couple of times I almost fall back into my old role as tribute and I half expect to be woken up early in the morning to be taken down to training.

At this point we don’t see much of the other victors, with the exception of the opening ceremony. From the corner of my eye I catch Millie arranging her daughter’s hair to make sure that it’s perfect but I quickly turn my head in the other direction and reach for Peeta’s hand. I’m not ready to see my own worst nightmare played up before my eyes just yet. Tonight I’ll focus on my tributes. Cinna and Portia have dressed them and they look great but for the terrified expressions on their faces. It seems not even Cinna has been able to calm Alice and her fear is starting to annoy me. I know what it’s like to be in her shoes but I also know she can’t allow her fear to show and she can’t afford the luxury of feeling sorry for herself. I let go of Peeta’s hand and grab her by the shoulders, taking her aside.

“You have got to pull yourself together” I say sternly. “Look at me! The other tributes will look at you and think you’re weak. Unless you’re Johanna Mason, which I’m quite convinced that you are not, that is only going to hurt you. You need to act strong even if you don’t _feel_ strong. Nobody sponsors a tribute who cries all the time. Especially not a fifteen year-old tribute who should be more in control of herself.” I look over at Davy who’s having his red cape adjusted by Portia. “What’s more, you’re scaring the boy. You’re the older one. You set the tone. Don’t be selfish. Help him be strong.”

“He’s my competitor, isn’t he?” asks Alice with a trembling voice. “Does it benefit me to help him? We’re not star-crossed lovers; they’re not going to let us both out of there alive.”

“I didn’t say you should become best friends with him” I point out and lead her back to the carriage. “Now pretend to be brave, even if you’re not.”

Peeta shoots me a look but I ignore it and look over at the rest of the tributes who have begun to get up on their chariots. The boy from District 1 is huge. I would be scared to death of him if I were Alice or Davy. Our tributes can’t afford to look like easy pickings in that boy’s eyes.

The tributes are all put on their chariots and the rest of us take a step back. A pair of avoxes come and usher us to a line of cars waiting to take us to the Training Centre where we’ll be watching the parade from the big screens. My eyes go to Millie Helm who seems to be holding it together quite well as we arrive at our destination. This is the easy part. I wonder how calm and in control she will look when her daughter is on the platform with the clock ticking down.

“We need to watch District 1” mutters Haymitch in Peeta’s and my ear. “He’s a brute.”

“Maybe too much of a brute” replies Peeta. “His size and strength can be used against him.”

“By our tributes?” I question. “One’s only twelve and the other is a weeping mess.”

“Well then it is fortunate they have you to be a pillar of compassion” snorts Haymitch.

“Please, you don’t advocate compassion” I shoot back. “They need to be toughened up.”

“Will June Helm be a problem or an advantage?” asks Peeta. “With a victor for a mother she might know more about how to survive the Games than the rest of them. Which may also make her a target.”

“Millie is going to advice her to run and find shelter and avoid the cornucopia” says Haymitch. “If she were from a different district she might try and form an alliance but Six is not an easy sell. The careers band together, the others might see her as competition they don’t want to be too close with.”

“Maybe that’s our play” I suggest. “Have Alice and Davy form an alliance with her.”

“Sure, if you want to have their throats slit in their sleep on the first night.”

“You really think June would do that?”

“I think she might” says Haymitch. “Even if she doesn’t, why should she ally with our tributes? In case you haven’t noticed we didn’t exactly get the best of District 12 this year.”

Portia shushes us and we turn our attention to the screens. Davy and Alice don’t make nearly as good an impression as I would like, though Alice has pulled herself together and doesn’t look petrified. It’s not enough to make them stand out, even with Cinna’s and Portia’s wardrobe, and we’re going to have a difficult time finding sponsors unless they turn out to be spectacular in training.

“We should talk strategy tonight” decides Haymitch. “This used to be easier when I didn’t have to coordinate my plans with two kids who barely knew how to get sponsors themselves or form a decent strategy.”

“Is that why you mentored so many tributes to victory?” I reply.

“Enough” says Peeta. “Here they come.”

The chariots pull into the Training Centre, one at a time. We help our tributes out of the chariot and then send them upstairs with Effie. Haymitch tells us he will be up too in a while and walks off to talk to one of the victors. Wishing he would save the socializing until later I take Peeta’s hand and walk towards the elevators.

 

 

Our strategy meeting turns into a heated argument. The three of us can’t seem to agree on anything. I want to help Millie, Peeta objects vehemently to that idea and Haymitch thinks we’re both idiots who are missing the obvious. By the end of the meeting I still don’t know what the obvious is and we’ve gotten no closer to forming a decent strategy. All we’ve really decided on is that we should split the tributes up and train them one on one.

After we’ve gone to bed I ask Peeta if he thinks I’m a horrible person.

“No” he answers. “I think your heart is in the right place. It’s just... June Helm is not Prim, you know. She never will be. And Prim is not likely to end up in the arena, you know that.”

I’m about to object that my reasoning is not about being able to protect Prim if she gets reaped again but I decide not to correct him. In a way it _is_ about Prim. It’s about protecting those that I love. I find it a little ironic that Peeta would have a different viewpoint than me on this since his defining trait in the eyes of the people watching the Games is that he would sacrifice anything, his own life included, to save someone he loves.

“Do you think our tributes stand a chance?” I ask him.

“No” he admits with a sigh. “Alice possibly, but... No.”

“Then why not help Millie?”

“Because Haymitch didn’t think _I_ stood a chance.”

I can’t argue with that. He tells me goodnight and rolls over on his stomach. Five minutes later he is fast asleep while I spend yet another night lying awake for hours. I think about the meaning of what he just said and about how the choices we make now might affect us in the future. It’s difficult to relax and go to sleep with all of that hanging over me.

 

 

The next day Davy and Alice both seem to have pulled themselves together. I don’t see a single tear falling or a single quivering lip while we’re having our early breakfast. Haymitch is not present, probably hung over in his room, but Peeta and I both feel that we want to talk to the tributes before they go down to training. Whether or not I choose to help Millie over my own tributes at least for the moment I plan on supporting Davy and Alice. It’s not like Millie, or anybody else, will know what I say to my tributes up in our rooms.

I don’t know if they plan on taking our advice or not, which for now is to focus on survival skills. Davy looks like he might do what we suggest but he’s too fragile to have any success with throwing spears or wielding swords anyway. As for Alice, she has a look in her eye that I’m not very pleased with but I can’t put my finger to what is wrong with it. Now that she’s stopped crying she seems to be developing a sneer towards me that I don’t like. Then again, if she doesn’t want to take my advice then she doesn’t have to. It’s her life on the line.

Haymitch shows up for dinner. Effie talks cheerfully during the meal while the rest of us chew our food with little comment. Was it this quiet and awkward when Peeta and I were tributes?

“Tomorrow the happy couple will be going out on the streets” says Haymitch suddenly. “Showing off, making friends, having their picture taken with squealing Capitol morons...”

“Excuse me?” I say.

“We’re needed here” objects Peeta.

“You’re also needed out there” argues Haymitch.

“Yeah but we can’t win sponsors yet” I argue back. “Doesn’t matter who _we_ are, people will want to see who _they_ are before they invest in them.”

“But if you wait until the Games have begun it will seem a tad transparent, won’t it?” says Haymitch. “So therefore you will start tomorrow by going on a fun outing together and accidentally stumbling across devoted fans of yours who in a few days might be persuaded to sponsor your tributes.”

Peeta and I share a look. Haymitch is probably right but I don’t feel like spending yet another day amongst Capitol citizens who seem to think Peeta and I are their pets and our supposed love is their property. And if I go out on the streets with Peeta tomorrow that would pretty much cement that we are choosing our tributes above Millie’s daughter.

“I’ve always wanted to see the Green Dome” claims Peeta. “What do you say we act as tourists there tomorrow?”

“Oh the Green Dome is charming” chirps Effie. “You will love it. In fact, I have the morning off so I could go with you and at as your guide.”

“Enjoy” says Alice dryly.

I give her a look but she seems preoccupied with her soup. Peeta asks Effie a few questions about the dome I know he’s never cared about in the slightest, or even heard of before two years ago. My eyes go to Haymitch who is having a conversation with Portia about something. Somehow it feels like I’m being left out of the loop.

 

 

It does not take long before Peeta, Haymitch and I begin to establish our roles. Haymitch is the grump who spends as little time as possible with the tributes but who masterminds everything behind the scenes and occasionally tells Peeta and me what he thinks we should do and why. I am the one who coaches Alice and Davy to be fighters and to toughen their minds. Peeta is the one they turn to when they need comfort and understanding. I admire his ability to sneak in survival tips and push them in the direction he wants them to go while he soothes them but it annoys me that he indulges their self-pity. I see no place for that kind of thing in the Hunger Games. Frailty is a big weakness and even the smallest weakness is dangerous in the arena.

Every day Haymitch has Peeta and me out on the streets, essentially marketing ourselves and making the most out of our popularity and, as Haymitch claims, doing our damndest to keep it alive for future Games. We kiss, we laugh, we stroll down the streets with an arm around each other’s waist and my head on Peeta’s shoulder. It’s tiresome and I don’t see the benefits of it but Haymitch is so adamant that I can only assume he sees a bigger picture.

Both Davy and Alice take their seats next to Peeta when we gather to find out their scores, which irks me a little since I see that as my spot. Instead I sit with Cinna and Haymitch, wishing I had Effie or Portia beside me rather than Haymitch since he keeps burping white liquor and smells like he hasn’t realized that we have access to showers. I find it odd to see him drunk right now since he was sober for the most part when Peeta and I were in training. I can only assume that he doesn’t think these two tributes have any chance at all so he drinks to dull the knowledge that he soon has to send two more children to certain death in the arena. I have some level of understanding for him but I can’t excuse him for not trying harder.

Young Davy gets a score of four and is visibly upset. Peeta puts an arm around his shoulders and whispers something in his ear that seems to make him perk up a little. Alice gets a score of seven and she nervously studies our reactions.

“Is that good enough?” she asks.

“We can work with that” assures her Effie.

“What did you do during your private session?” asks Haymitch, only slurring a little.

“I carved a stick to a point and hurled it at one of the dummies.”

I can hardly resist rolling my eyes at such a weak display of talent. Alice has proven to be quite skilled at carving since apparently her father is a carpenter but how that skill is going to help her much in the arena is a mystery to me. I’ve tried to coach her to practice using the knife for other purposes but apparently she didn’t care to listen.

Cinna, Portia and Effie weigh in with their opinions and then Portia ushers Davy to bed. They have an early day tomorrow with a lot of prepping for their interviews. I’m leaving that whole portion of the program to Effie, Peeta and Haymitch. If there’s one thing I’m terrible at it’s the interviews. Effie and Cinna head off as well, one to begin what must be a several hour long process of removing makeup, the other to put the finishing touches on Alice’s wardrobe for the interviews. Alice herself stays on the couch and leans in closer to Peeta, resting her head on his shoulder and saying something in a small voice. Peeta gives her a smile and says something comforting. Alice looks up at him with big, sad eyes and the whole scene makes me irrationally annoyed. I would very much like to walk over there and tell her to pull herself together but then Haymitch asks me something and I have to direct my attention to him.

“A word in private, Katniss?”

My eyes go to Peeta and Alice.

“Later.”

“Or right now.”

He gets up and I have no choice but to follow him, though it bothers me to leave Peeta and Alice alone on the couch together. She should be in bed by now anyway. She’s not going to make a good impression tomorrow with bags under her eyes.

“What is so important?” I ask Haymitch once we’re out of the room.

“Your lack of interest in your tributes.”

“I do not have a lack of interest in my tributes” I protest.

“You do your job and train them” agrees Haymitch. “But I’ve heard you talking to Peeta and I’ve seen the way your eyes go to Millie Helm whenever she’s around.”

“So what?” I ask defensively.

“So, don’t get any stupid ideas into your head.”

“Such as what?”

“Millie Helm is in a rotten position” says Haymitch. “You, however, have your own tributes to think about.”

“I do think about them.”

“But you’re also thinking about helping Millie save her daughter. Tell me straight, Katniss. Are you pregnant?”

The question surprises me and offends me a little because it feels so private. My cheeks turn red and I wrap my arms around my chest, feeling strangely exposed in front of my old mentor.

“No” I answer.

“Are you certain of that?”

“Yes.”

“But there is a risk that you might become pregnant in the not-so-distant future.”

“You’re being presumptive, aren’t you?” I say dryly.

“You’re a practical young woman, sweetheart” answer Haymitch. “I expected Peeta to brim over with compassion at Millie’s plight but I expected you to be more pragmatic. There is only one thing I can think of that would make you shift your priorities from getting one of our tributes out of the arena alive and that is your mind making plans to save your own child further down the line. Something I doubt you would be worried about unless there was a cause for concern right now.”

“I’m not pregnant!” I repeat in a hiss.

“Good” says Haymitch, though he doesn’t seem thoroughly convinced.

“I’m scared as hell of getting pregnant” I admit. “You know what would happen to any child Peeta and I have together.”

“I do. I just didn’t expect you to be worrying about it before there is a child to worry about. I take it there is a chance that you might end up pregnant before long? Oh, come on sweetheart, don’t look so bashful. You’re two young people living under one roof, the boy doesn’t look nearly as frustrated as he ought to if he’s not enjoying any benefits, the thought of babies is clearly on your mind...”

“What Peeta and I do together is none of your damn business, you know” I reply.

“It is when it effects my tributes.”

“I find it hard to believe you actually care that much about them” I shoot back.

Haymitch snorts and gives me a disdainful look. I know my comment was unfair and that the fact that he does care is one of the main reasons why he drinks. Still I can’t help myself from getting a verbal punch in when he makes me feel that exposed. He walks off and leaves me there to think about what we talked about, even though I’m not entirely sure what he wanted to get from the conversation. Maybe he just wanted to know if I was pregnant.

I walk back to the other room where, if I’m not mistaken, Alice is flirting with Peeta. I have noticed the looks she’s been giving him but I didn’t expect her to do more than gaze when I’m around. She’s three years younger than us, saw our romance and our wedding on TV and probably swooned for Peeta like a lot of the Capitol girls but she can’t believe for a second that she would stand a chance with him. Part of his allure to the Panem audience is how much he cares about _me_.

“Alice” I say. “You should get to bed. It’s getting late.”

She looks up and doesn’t seem very pleased to see me. Peeta looks up as well, oblivious to her flirtations, and gives me a smile.

“She’s right” he tells Alice. “It’s been a long day and you’ve got another one ahead of you tomorrow. We’ll be leaving you in the hands of Haymitch and he shows no mercy.”

I walk over to the couch, reach down and place a hand on Peeta’s jaw to angle it up towards me for a kiss.

“ _You_ should be getting to bed” I say suggestively, even though neither one of us has had the least bit of desire for sex while we’ve been here.

“You said you would show me how the remote for the windows works” claims Alice with an annoying pout.

“One of the avoxes can do that” I say, my tone anything but soft now that I’m talking to her.

“No, that’s alright” smiles Peeta and gets up from his seat. “It will only take a minute. I’ll be in soon, Katniss.”

They walk off and I begin to resent having to kiss up to snooty Capitol citizens to help save a girl who claims to be too dumb to figure out how to use a remote control. I don’t hear Haymitch walking in behind me and I jolt a little at the sound of his voice.

“Marking your territory for the benefit of a scared fifteen year-old who probably only has days to live...” he says. “I’m not sure if it’s incredibly stupid on your part since the boy barely notices that women other than you are female, or if it’s endearing. I’m going to go with stupid as I assume your possessiveness has little to do with affection for your husband and more to do with not liking it when other kids play with your toys.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about” I insist. “I was _not_ marking my territory.”

“Sure, if you say so...”

I shoot him a death glare.

“What do you want, Haymitch?”

He stumbles over to the coffee table where a half-empty bottle of white liquor has produced a stain that would have upset Effie if she had seen it. He picks the bottle up and grins at me.

“Forgot my nightcap. Oh, tell your husband he has the day off tomorrow. Both tributes need to be toughened up before they go on camera and Mr. Compassion is not the right man for the job. Last year I wanted to hit him over the head with something.”

“The interviews tomorrow are serious” I remind him, eager to find fault in him right now. “You should be sober when you prepare them.”

“Thanks for the reminder” he says dryly and leaves the room.

With a scowl in his direction and a lot of unflattering thoughts about Alice Lark in my head I go back to my own bedroom to wait for Peeta to come. If he takes more than five minutes to show Alice how to press a button this evening is not going to have a very pleasant ending. I don’t know if I’m more annoyed with him for indulging Alice, with Alice for flirting with him or with myself for caring so much. All I know for sure is I don’t like what’s going on.

 

 

The next day Peeta and I head up on the roof while Alice and Davy are being trained for their interviews. We sit in the garden and talk for a while about what it was like when we were tributes and had only two more days before going in to the arena. It’s not something I’m glad to be thinking about but it feels like we need to talk about it. It’s not something that will go away and we are lucky enough to have each other to talk to. None of the other victors have that luxury since they didn’t participate in the same Games. We stretch out on the grass and stare at the clouds up above, relieved that we’ll never have to be back in the arena and that we both made it out together.

“I wish you wouldn’t indulge Alice” I say out of the blue when there’s been a short moment of silence.

Peeta looks up at me with a frown.

“Indulge her? You mean because of the little crush she has?”

“So you are aware of it?”

“Of course I’m aware of it.” He gives me a smirk. “Not all of us need to have it spelled out for us that somebody likes them.”

“It’s not _that_ serious, is it?” I ask with growing concern, lifting my head up a little.

“Of course not” chuckles Peeta. “It’s an innocent schoolgirl crush. No substance to it. She saw me two years ago, she’s seen me a couple of times since then, compared to you and Haymitch I’m more gentle with her and Davy so she gets attached to me. Listen, don’t worry about Alice okay? The minute she’s taken on board that hovercraft she’ll forget all about me and she won’t need a shoulder to lean on. She’s strong, she just needs to realize it.”

He shifts a bit and rests his head on my lap. I sit up and study his face while I think about all that transpired last night, including what I spoke to Haymitch about. Maybe I am a bit possessive. I don’t like the idea of Alice or anyone else getting to look at Peeta’s face like this. To me this is something that feels intimate. I stroke his cheek, feeling the slight stubble.

“Boy tributes never grow a beard in the arena” I say.

“No.”

“Several male victors do, later in life. What do they do to you to ensure you won’t grow facial hair during the Games?”

“You know that waxy stuff they use to remove the hair in our armpits and our groins?”

My jaw drops a little and he nods.

“On your _face_?”

“They do it the morning after the parade and you’re under strict instructions not to shave that morning. It takes about a month for it to start growing again.”

“Like with my arms and legs and, well, everywhere else” I sigh.

He nods and smiles a little. I go back to studying his features, fascinated by the patterns that form from the sunlight that shines through the leaves. He has a distinct jaw line which I trace with a finger. His eyelashes seem so long, longer than any girl's I've ever seen. He closes his eyes, seems content. I think again of what Haymitch and I talked about before.

“Haymitch asked me if I’m pregnant.”

Peeta freezes.

“Are you?”

“I told you I wasn’t on the train ride. You think I somehow became pregnant since then without having sex?”

“Just making sure...” He sits up and cups my chin with his hand, giving me a smile before he leans in to kiss me. “You have been behaving a little irrationally since we’ve been here” he says. “I guess pregnancy would explain that, though I attributed it more to being where we are in the situation we are in.”

“Pregnancy does not make me behave irrationally” I argue.

“How would you know?”

Thankfully he doesn’t linger at the question or the comment I made that proceeded it. Instead he kisses me again and I kiss him back, glad to have a moment to think about something other than the Hunger Games and our tributes. He lays me back down and we stay like that for a while, kissing softly. When Peeta finally pulls away and sits back up I let a displeased sigh escape my lips. Doing anything more than kissing up on the roof is out of the question but it was nice to have that closeness with him in the middle of everything else that’s happening.

“We should get back downstairs” says Peeta. “They will be asking for us soon. We need to change and get ready for this evening.”

He gets up and grabs my hand, pulling me to my feet. Reluctantly I follow him down to our room where we take turns in the shower and then rummage through the closets. Cinna and Portia have supplied us with clothes to wear but since we’re mentors they don’t stick around to dress us nor do we get any visits from our prep teams until the Games start. We won’t be seen by Panem before then, only by the people backstage. We meet up with Haymitch and Effie in the hallway. Haymitch is sober but judging by the look on his face that might not last for very long. Effie is nervous and mumbles something about how District 12 won’t be a prestigious district for very long unless our tributes can make an impression and go far in the Games. I glare at her but she doesn’t seem to notice.

When Alice and Davy show up with their prep teams I take Peeta’s arm, hoping Haymitch won’t notice and feel the need to comment. We follow the tributes on to the elevator and ride down with them, Effie talking non-stop. It’s pretty nerve-wrecking to stand backstage and watch the other tributes, waiting to see how well ours will do.

Alice does okay. She doesn’t wow anybody but she’s not terrible either. She comes off as a shy girl who might possibly have some unknown talents that she can showcase in the arena and I’m guessing Haymitch wanted her to play up the mystery of those unseen talents in the hopes of people wanting her to stay around long enough to find out what those talents are. I don’t think she was very successful in being alluring but she is only fifteen and it’s through and through bizarre that she should have to play up an angle like that to save her life.

Davy is the last tribute to go and he is endearing but it’s painfully obvious that he won’t last very long. The only thing that makes it bearable to watch him is that he doesn’t seem to know how doomed he is. It’s just as well that he believes he stands a chance. It might bring him to fight or hide or in some way prolong his life by a day or two.

After the interviews the tributes are escorted up to their rooms but when I move to follow them Haymitch and Peeta stay behind.

“The mentors like to get together for a bit before tomorrow” explains Peeta. “For an hour or so. It kind of helps, being around others in the same situation. They’ve done it so many times, that helps too.”

“Yeah, kind of like how it was nice being around other people who were about to go into the arena with us” I say dryly.

“This is different. None of us have to kill each other.”

“No, we’ll just be trying our best to have our protégées outlive theirs.”

“Try to act at least a _little_ friendly” says Haymitch. “These people are my friends and if they’re out of luck they might end up being yours as well. Behave. Try not to snap at anyone.”

I end up sitting on a couch in a corner with Bess from District 3, Jojo from District 5, Sparkle from District 2 and Cecelia from District 8. They all talk about the dresses the female tributes wore and the scores from the training sessions and old memories from previous Hunger Games. None of it interests me very much except for the part about the scores. I keep looking over at Peeta, who is deep in conversation with a male victor from District 9, and Haymitch, who is equally deep in conversation with Chaff from District 11, Finnick Odair, Beetee from District 3 and a few others whose names I don’t remember. The only mentor who doesn’t seem to be here is Millie. According to a snide comment from Sparkle it’s probably because she’s up in her room sharing her morphling with her daughter.

When I feel I can’t stand the boredom any longer I get up and walk over to Peeta. If I have to be here then I can at least be with him. When the District 9 mentor sees me approaching he says something to Peeta and leaves, which I have no problem with at all. I take a seat next to my husband and lay my hand on his good knee.

“Those women bore me to tears” I confess.

“You should try and talk to them” says Peeta. “They’re not so bad, you know.”

“All they have to talk to each other about is the Games.”

“That’s not true.”

Before I can reply somebody plops down on the other side of him on the couch and I’m not excited to see Johanna Mason’s face. She’s wearing a very revealing dress and presses her upper arms to her chest which makes her cleavage hard to miss. Peeta seems entertained by it, though thankfully not aroused. For my part I’m just annoyed.

“Aw, aren’t you just the sweetest star-crossed lovers in all the world?” coos Johanna. “Can’t spend ten minutes without each other, huh?”

“Hi Johanna” chuckles Peeta.

“Your wife seems grumpy tonight” remarks Johanna. “Doesn’t like sharing you, does she?”

“What do you want?” I ask, unbothered by how blunt I sound.

“Nothing...” Her eyes trail from one of us to the other and a catlike grin spreads across her face. “Just wondering if you two ever have any fun or if you’re both too... innocent for that.”

“Aren’t you sweet to take an interest” answers Peeta good-naturedly.

“That’s me” says Johanna, standing back up again. “All sugary sweetness, all the time.”

“Yeah, don’t go outside when it’s raining, you could melt.”

She leans down and plants a kiss on Peeta’s mouth. Then she grins at me.

“Do you want a kiss, too? I don’t discriminate.”

Thankfully she leaves it at the remark and walks away without kissing me. The last thing I want is to be at any close contact with crazy Johanna Mason. I glare at her retreating figure but Peeta chuckles. I turn my glare at him instead and can’t possibly understand what is so funny.

“Don’t let her get to you, Katniss” he laughs. “She wants a reaction out of you.”

“She got one.”

“Indeed. She’ll try again, be sure of that. You’re too... innocent for her not to enjoy teasing you like that.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay, fine. Don’t expect me to be... not-innocent anytime soon if that’s how you want it.”

“Katniss... I’m just teasing you. Relax a little.” He gives me a smile. “Speaking of which, we should get to bed. We need to be well rested tomorrow morning.”

We get up from our seat and make our way through the room. Peeta catches Haymitch’s eye and nods towards the doors. Haymitch says something to Beetee and then moves to follow us. When we pass Johanna Mason she smirks and bids us farewell in her own special way.

“Night-night, turtledoves. Remember, no pillow fights after ten o’clock.”

I resist the urge to grab something and throw it at her and Peeta resists the urge to laugh. We are not very synchronized in this matter.

 

 

Watching the Games as a mentor is difficult, exhausting, heartbreaking. It makes you feel helpless in a way I’ve never experienced before, suffering with your tributes, feeling their anxiety and pain, knowing it’s up to you to help them but oftentimes finding that you can’t. How Millie does it for her own child is beyond my comprehension. Peeta and I spend a lot of time out on the streets of the Capitol, doing our best to charm possible sponsors and convince them that Davy and Alice are worth spending money on. Haymitch stays indoors keeping an eye on the events unfolding in the arena.

Both our tributes survive the initial bloodbath. Davy teams up with a twelve year-old from District 8 but that boy is not as careful as Davy and later that evening he runs straight into a trap and gets killed. Davy makes it another two days on his own before the big brute from District 2 grabs him and throws him off a high peak. The sound of the cannon makes me sick. Alice survives another five days, with eight other tributes left when she dies. It’s June Helm who throws a knife at her and when Alice is on the ground gasping for air June nonchalantly pulls the knife out and walks away, leaving the fifteen year-old merchant girl from District 12 to die slowly and painfully.

Three days and four tributes later June meets her end. A cunning boy from District 4 captures her in a net and together with the other two surviving careers they have their fun with her for a couple of hours before she dies. As furious as I was with June for the way she killed Alice I’m appalled by the brutal way she meets her own end. Many of us mentors are gathered in the same room when it all unfolds, Cecelia and a man from District 7 comforting Millie while the rest of us watch in silence, not knowing what to say. It’s a relief when the cannon finally fires and June is gone.

That evening it’s only Haymitch, Peeta, Effie and me having dinner together. Cinna and Portia were removed from our team when their respective tributes died. There is talk of upgrading Cinna to a better district. I suppose he’s earned the right to prep and dress and comfort tributes who have a greater chance of survival.

We eat in silence for a while, none of us having much of an appetite. Someone ordered my favourite lamb stew but I barely feel what it tastes like. Even Effie seems taken. Maybe she’s beginning to learn what the Games are really about and that it’s not glamorous in the least.

“It’s not right” she says after a while. “Winners’ children should be spared. It’s too cruel to force parents to mentor their own children.”

“It’s cruel to force children to murder other children” replies Peeta coolly.

Effie looks down at her food and makes two attempts at starting to speak before she manages to actually get something out. When she does she looks up at Peeta and me.

“I never thought I would ever resign from the Hunger Games but the day I will risk having to draw your child’s name from the balls... They’ll have to find somebody else to do that.”

“You planned on still working District 12 thirteen years down the line?” asks Haymitch, either completely missing the point or just trying to tease her. I wish he wouldn’t, not right now. She’s taking a huge risk by saying what she just said.

“Thanks Effie” mumbles Peeta. “We’re not too wild about that day either.”

Effie looks like she wants to say something else but holds her tongue. She’s taken a big enough risk as it is voicing her disapproval of the idea of children of victors being reaped and I know it’s quite something when a person like Effie Trinket has come to view the Games that way. Nothing more is said during dinner except an occasional “could you pass the rice?” or similar. After dinner Haymitch goes down to get drunk with some of his mentor friends but Peeta and I have no desire to rejoin the group downstairs. I’ve come to realize that there is little sense of competition between the mentors, at least the decent ones, and instead they mostly try to support one another and help each other get through yet another Hunger Games. I guess that can happen when all of them know they will lose at least one tribute. Haymitch is unique, being the only one who once got both of his out. Still, even with the companionship among the victors, Peeta’s company is the only one I want right now.

We take a seat on the couch in front of the TV, sitting in silence since there’s not much to say. We both wish we could go home but we have to stay in the Capitol until a winner has been declared and then we have to partake in the festivities and congratulate the newest member of our club. Then, of course, we have to watch our own tributes die again on screen.

We both look up when Effie walks into the room. She looks upset but not in the hysterical way she can get if somebody is not on schedule or if Peeta or I say or do something she deems unsuitable. I share a look with Peeta. June’s death must have really gotten to her but I don’t see why it should. She’s worked this job during previous Games where tributes have been the children of victors.

“What’s the matter, Effie?” asks Peeta with concern.

She nervously looks around her. Then she bends forward to get her face closer to ours and speaks to us in a whisper, worried that somebody might overhear her.

“I can’t bear the thought of seeing your child go into the arena” she says. “Having to watch you mentor your own son or daughter...” She casts another nervous look around the room and then reaches into her pocket for something which she then thrusts in my hand. Peeta looks at it with confusion but I know exactly what it is. “Here. It’s not much and it’s only effective for a year but at least it’s something. It puts it off for one more year.”

I look up at her and probably for the first time in my life feel genuine affection and gratitude towards Effie Trinket.

“Thank you” I say.

She hurries off and I quickly hide what she gave me in my pocket. Peeta looks even more confused and asks me to see it but I shake my head.

“Not here. Not yet.”

He has to hold off on satisfying his curiosity until an hour later when we are in our own room. I don’t know that it’s safe now either so I take what Effie gave me and hide it in my bag as discreetly as I can. Peeta sits on the bed and watches me, his eyebrows raised questioningly. I walk over to him and straddle him, bringing my lips right to his ears so I can whisper to him.

“It’s contraceptive. I inject it into my arm. It keeps me from getting pregnant for a full year.”

“How do you know about this?” asks a confounded Peeta.

“They gave it to me in the Capitol” I admit before covering the truth with a lie. “They didn’t think I should get pregnant too soon after my illness. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

He doesn’t ask any further questions. He doesn’t understand its full value. I do, and I have no idea how Effie got a hold of it without raising suspicion. Since they last for a full 365 days I have no doubt the Capitol will only let you have one of those injections per year. She must have given me her own. I have no idea how we will ever pay her back.

 

 

After the Games are over and we’ve returned to District 12 Peeta and I are both a little quieter than we usually are and spend a lot of time in our own heads. At the same time we seek each other’s company, feeling better when we are near one another. We haven’t had sex in over a month and I don’t expect us to anytime soon. It’s difficult to feel in the mood for that so shortly after having to follow every minute of the Games and for my own part I find myself thinking more and more about this time last year when I was starting to get near my due date. I’m terrified of when the baby’s birthday will be here. That day will mark exactly one year since I gave the child up and I will have to realize that I haven’t touched, heard or smelled that child for more than twelve months. It breaks my heart to think about it. It’s like a yard mark or a milestone that signifies that the baby is truly out of my reach for the rest of my life.

Because of all of this it takes me by surprise when Peeta wakes me up one morning with kisses and caresses that can only mean he has one thing on his mind. For a moment I hesitate but his touches do feel good and I have to admit that I’ve missed this. I roll him over on his back, straddle him and we have hasty, slightly desperate sex. It lasts only a few minutes but when it’s over we share a smile. This was something different. We’ve never had sex in daylight before and I’ve never been on top. We’ve been very bad at exploring, both of us a little too tentative and nervous to dare to push any boundaries or try anything outside the most basic formula.

This morning puts an end to that. Peeta flips us over again and throws the comforter aside, which in itself is new for us. He then spends the rest of the morning thoroughly exploring me, testing what works and finding almost every sensitive spot on my body to the point that I barely know my own name when he finally sinks into me. A vague notion that I should return the favour flutters through my mind but I’m far too spent to lift a finger and Peeta goes to sleep afterward and doesn’t wake up for almost two hours. While he sleeps I put on the t-shirt he slept in and go downstairs to prepare us lunch. We eat it in bed, another new luxury, and I find myself feeling oddly content with life. His touches and kisses have begun to wake a hunger in me that I’ve only felt once before – in the cave during our Games. I don’t know what that hunger means but I’ve found that it can be temporarily satisfied but never fully sated.

What follows is an intense summer full of exploration and passion and all kinds of things that my mother would surely have a heart attack if she knew about. About a week after Peeta spent all morning exploring me I return the favour and find that any of the shyness I’ve felt around him is gone. It becomes a game, who can get the most favourable reaction from the other? I’m careful to keep my voice down and not lose control completely when we’re playing but it’s not always easy. Since neither of us really have anything to do all day we spend a lot of time in bed with each other that summer. It surprises me how Peeta can be so passionate and uninhibited with me in our bed and then an hour later seem completely unfazed and calm and proper while we eat dinner with his or my family. I’m sure it shows on my face that I’m experiencing a whole new form of satisfaction but nobody around me seems to notice or at least not find anything strange about it. When not even Haymitch or Peeta’s tease of a brother have anything to say about it I assume it doesn’t show quite so much as I would think.

I still spend time out in the woods, sometimes with Gale but often by myself. Peeta plays sports with his friends and we have the occasional dinner with one of his friends who got married in March. Peeta takes Prim and me to the bakery and together with my father-in-law shows Prim how to decorate a cake, letting her try it too. She has a blast, though the cakes don’t turn out too well. Peeta’s mother clearly thinks it’s a horrible waist of merchandize that could have been sold but Peeta has the means now to keep them fed even without running the bakery so nobody but her worries about it. I find more and more that I can ignore my witch of a mother-in-law. She holds little power over me when Peeta and I only see her a day or two of the week for a few hours at a time. I even find myself smiling at her and saying something friendly on the night when I sit up on a tall stool and watch as Peeta shows my sister how to make little primrose flowers to put on top of a cake. My uncharacteristic cheerfulness seems off-putting to her but I know that no matter what she thinks or feels about me she would never dare to treat me like she treats her sons. My status as one of the most memorable Hunger Games victors protects me, as does the fact that I’m one step out of the close family circle. I know her true colours but I don’t know if she’s aware of it and she’s not going to show that side to me.

 

 

I wake up early one September morning and smile when I see the sun shining through the window we keep slightly open during the night. Gale and I have made plans to go hunting together and the weather looks like it’s going to be great. Sunny and warm in the glades, cool in the woods, a slight breeze blowing. I stretch and yawn and glance at the alarm clock. I have another ten minutes before I have to be up and I spend them enjoying the luxury of relaxing under soft sheets while fresh summer air comes in through the window. When the clock rings I quickly shut it off to let Peeta continue to sleep. The feeling of his arm running over my stomach tells me that I wasn’t quick enough. I turn my head to bid him a good morning and tell him about my plans for the day but before I can do that he moves the comforter to the side and begins to trail kisses down my body. A smile spreads across my face. I don’t want to be late but we can be quick.

But quick is the last thing I want him to be when he buries his face between my legs. Instinctively I sit myself up and remove the top I slept in, lying back down to enjoy the sensations. He takes his time, in one of his exploratory moods, testing different techniques and varying what his hands are doing. One moment one of them is squeezing my breast, the next they are both spread on my stomach, then they are gripping my thighs. All thoughts of Gale and the woods have left my mind as I feel the cool breeze from the window caress my skin and my one hand grips Peeta’s hair while the other grips the sheets underneath me. It takes everything I’ve got to contain my sounds of pleasure to mewls and moans rather than the screams I could surely produce if I wasn’t afraid someone might overhear me.

When Peeta finally begins to trail kisses up my body I can’t even remember what day of the week it is, much less what my Sunday plans are. He kisses my neck and rests his head there for a while, without making a move to get some pleasure for himself. With a smile I grab his shoulders and roll us over, aiming to reward him for his efforts. It’s slow and sensual and his hands keep roaming over my body as if he doesn’t know where he wants to touch me the most. I love that he touches me like that. It makes me feel desirable. I open my eyes and look down on him, finding his eyes fixated on the point where our bodies join together. It makes me feel a little awkward to have him watching us like that, which doesn’t make sense since he just spent forever with a close-up view of my most private parts. With a smirk I squeeze him tight and rest my hands on his shoulders, which makes him close his eyes and lean his head back with a groan.

The point was to reward Peeta but I end up reaching my climax first. My legs are starting to feel sore from the exercise and I move off of Peeta and lie down next to him. He pushes himself up on an elbow and after giving himself a moment to catch his breath he gets on top of me and moves at his own pace to bring himself to finish. I wrap one leg around his waist and both my arms around his back, our lips meeting for kiss after kiss as the hunger burns hot inside of me. When it’s over Peeta collapses on top of me, needing a moment to come to his senses before he rolls to the side. I pull him closer and close my eyes, unable to keep them open for another two minutes.

I don’t know for how long we have slept when we wake up but both our stomachs are growling and it’s time for lunch. Through laughs and giggles we get out of bed and look around for clothes to wear. It’s going to be another day spent mostly in bed, why bother putting decent clothes on? Peeta finds a pair of pants and a worn t-shirt and I put on a pair of his underwear, which are vastly more comfortable than my own, and one of his white button-shirts. I run a brush through my hair but decide it’s no use trying to get it decent looking if we’re going to go back to bed after lunch so I don’t bother to braid it.

We go down to the kitchen and try to decide what we’re going to eat. I want something light, like a salad, but Peeta says he needs something a lot more filling than that. He finds some meatballs that my mother made the other night and decides to fry them up and have them with potatoes. I open the bread box and fish out the last loaves of bread, hoping that we have some cheese or maybe even ham to go with it.

There’s a knock on the door and Peeta goes to answer. I’m so preoccupied in my search for cheese that I don’t pay attention to the voices coming from the hallway until Peeta comes back to the kitchen with Gale on his heels.

The look on my face probably says it all. I completely forgot that I was meeting Gale and now I feel terrible. The look on his face doesn’t make it any easier. He’s never come to this house before so he must be quite upset with me to begin with and finding me roaming about the kitchen in Peeta’s clothes doesn’t exactly suggest that I was doing anything important to make me forget. Peeta’s eyes go from one of us to the other and he runs a hand through his hair. He doesn’t know I had made plans with Gale but he can probably guess it.

“I was worried...” begins Gale.

His eyes trail quickly over my body. Messy hair, husband’s underwear and shirt on in the middle of the day. It’s got to be painfully obvious to him why I forgot that we were supposed to meet up. My cheeks turn bright red and I can’t look at him.

“I’m going to go upstairs and take a shower” announces Peeta. “Gale, will you join us for lunch?”

“No” says Gale without taking his eyes off me.

Peeta nods and heads upstairs to give us some privacy. It’s quiet enough in the kitchen that I can hear the sound of his prosthetic foot against the wooden stairs and I can tell when he’s reached the bedroom. I walk over to the table and set the cheese and butter down, feeling practically naked in front of Gale in my current outfit.

“I’m sorry Gale” I say. “I forgot. I forgot it was Sunday.”

“We met in the hob _yesterday_ and decided we were going to go hunting” points out Gale. “You forgot what day of the week it was from one day to the next?”

The truth is that I did. Peeta’s ministrations this morning made me forget just about everything except what was going on between us in bed.

“I’m sorry” I repeat. “It slipped my mind, I... It’s not Peeta’s fault. He didn’t even know I was going hunting today.”

“I never said it was Peeta’s fault.” Gale shifts his weight from one foot to the other and looks very uncomfortable and annoyed. “I have to go back out there. I promised my mother I would bring her home some fish.”

“Gale wait.”

“No... It’s already past lunchtime. I don’t have time to wait.”

He leaves and I sink down on a chair with a heavy sigh. I sure know how to be grateful for my friends and how to pay Gale back for the enormous favour he did for me a year ago.

 

 

The sun is still shining brightly and only a light breeze takes the edge of the summer heat when I reach the stream where we both prefer to fish. Gale is still there, or at least his fishing rod is. Gale himself is probably gathering in the woods. Rather than going to look for him I take a seat on one of the hot rocks, knowing that he will be here before long to check his rod. The breeze creates tiny waves on the surface of the water and I let my fingers dip into the water and feel the coolness.

It takes about fifteen minutes for Gale to return. He doesn’t look very happy to see me and I feel pretty embarrassed myself when I think about how he must have understood perfectly why I never showed up this morning. It would probably be easier for us both right now if I hadn’t come here but I can’t leave it like that. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt Gale and I don’t want to risk our friendship by letting this brew between us. We’ve spent far too little time together in the past months as it is.

“I really am sorry” I say, squinting in the bright sunshine.

Gale sighs heavily and sets his bag of greens down in the shade of a tree.

“I was worried” he tells me. “I’ve not really seen you since... since the one year mark. I thought you didn’t come to the woods because you were too upset to get out of bed.”

I hang my head a little, feeling ashamed. It’s been three weeks since my child’s first birthday and Gale is right, it has been difficult. I just can’t afford to let myself think too much about it and to tell the truth I don’t want to give up on the happiness I’ve begun to feel over the summer.

“On the anniversary I came out here” I tell him. “I had to get away from Peeta. I hated the fact that it was a Wednesday and you couldn’t be here with me.”

“Yeah it really is a shame that my work schedule doesn’t adjust to your moments of crisis” says Gale in a surly tone.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He sits down next to me and I’m glad because it means I can look at him without having to squint. “When I woke up this morning I was looking forward to hunting with you. Things just... got in the way. There’s no excuse and I’m sorry.”

He looks away and draws a sharp breath.

“I’m glad that you’re happy” he says, not sounding entirely truthful. “I guess I just didn’t figure you would be _this_ happy.”

“How happy is _this_ happy?”

“I don’t know...” He pulls up a fistful of grass and tosses it in the water. “You don’t exactly... It’s like you have forgotten.”

“God, Gale, how can you say that to me?” I ask. “I live with the pain and the memories every day of my life. I just can’t afford to let it drag me down and I would have thought you of all people could understand that.”

“It’s not that I don’t understand” says Gale sharply. “I understand perfectly. I was there, remember? I was there with you in the Capitol and I saw how you suffered from what was happening to you. I was there the entire time when your child was being born. I was there when they took the child away. I saw your pain and may I remind you that I also put my life and my family at risk to help you protect that child? And now it seems we might be in the risk of a repeat performance at any time.”

“What?”

“You’re sleeping with him again.” It’s a statement, not a question. Actually, it’s an accusation.

My cheeks turn red and I look away. It’s none of Gale’s business yet somehow it is. I know how he feels about me and I don’t want to hurt his feelings. I can only imagine how I would feel if I knew Gale was doing with some other girl the things I do with Peeta and the thought makes my stomach turn.

“We’re married” I mumble by way of excuse.

“Oh, so all married couples must do that? Look, it only happened once last year and you got pregnant. How long before you’re pregnant again and what will you do then? What was it all for if you’re going to give birth to a new baby and this one _will_ go into the arena?”

My mind goes to the night three days after my child’s birthday when I injected the contraceptive Effie gave me. We’ve got another year before we need to worry about that and now that Peeta knows why we haven’t conceived we can discuss our options together a year from now. But can I tell Gale? He knows far more sensitive information than Peeta is privy to but I don’t think it’s wise to involve too many people in this particular secret.

“We take precautions” I say, hoping he won’t make further inquiries.

“None of them are completely safe, you know this Catnip.”

“It doesn’t happen often” I lie lamely, not sure why I’m defending myself on this subject.

Gale sighs heavily and waits for a moment before he speaks again.

“You’re in love with him.” It’s a statement, not a question, but his eyes are begging me to tell him it’s not true. “That’s what’s different. You fell in love with him.”

“All our lives, our safety, depends on me being believable in that role” I answer. The truth is I don’t know what I feel for Peeta, or for Gale. It’s too complicated.

“It’s sick is what it is” grumbles Gale. “It’s glorified prostitution!”

“Gale!”

“It is, Catnip. You’re forced to be with that guy even though you don’t want to be and President Snow has the power to destroy us all if you don’t play along. Why you don’t refuse to in any way that you can is beyond me. He can force you to be married to Peeta but he can’t force you to... to live with him as married.”

“It was my idea that Peeta and I should get married” I point out. “It was the safest choice, the best way to convince Panem that we did what we did in the arena because of love.”

“It’s sick” repeats Gale. He sighs and looks out over the stream. “Why can’t we run?”

“Because we can’t.”

“No I’m serious Katniss, why can’t we run? You and me and our families... Peeta, too, I suppose, if only so they don’t take our escape out on him. Why can’t we do that? Live freely, follow our own desires, not have someone else dictate what we can and can’t do and who we should and should not marry.”

“You know why.”

“No, Katniss, I really don’t.”

“If we run what will Snow do to my baby?”

He silences and clenches his jaw. I know what he’s thinking but he knows that I’m right. I sealed our fates when I decided not to abort the baby. We can run out of Snow’s reach but he will always have access to that child and I would never be able to rest or relax knowing that my baby might be suffering because I ran.

We sit there silently for a while and then I get up to leave. There’s nothing more to say. I have to go back to my husband and Gale has to go back to his family. That’s the way it is today. That’s the way it’s always going to be.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Changes are coming to District 12...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter update this time around. It might be a bit jump-y at times, going back and forth between different points in time, but it should only be minor stuff.

After a while the passion and excitement wears off a bit and Peeta and I return to what I assume is a more normal frequency of sexual activity. Around the time of our wedding anniversary we have another period of intense and often-occurring lovemaking which starts off when I wake up one morning spooning with Peeta and he begins to kiss and caress me and makes love to me in that position. Up until then we’ve only tried the two most basic positions but for a few weeks we get more creative and even begin to move our activities out of the bedroom.

Then things calm down a bit between us again. We sleep together three or four times a week which I assume is what normalcy is. The hunger I feel when we kiss and touch still remains but it’s not as urgent. Somewhere in the back of my mind I begin to worry about the upcoming fall when we might have to stop this entirely or at least find methods that don’t risk pregnancy. Sex has become an important part of my life, something that feels good in the middle of all the pain and the difficulties around us. It makes Peeta happy, it makes us feel closer to one another and it allows us both to feel like we have a real life and not just whatever scraps of life President Snow will allow us to have. I don’t want to give up on it altogether.

Outside of the bedroom life begins to find normalcy too. Living together under one roof is not always as easy as it was when we were tributes or when we were on the Victory Tour. The first time we have an actual fight it surprises me and I’m especially taken aback by seeing Peeta genuinely upset with me over something less monumental than me breaking his heart or him being left out of the loop by Haymitch and me. It doesn’t last very long, and it turns out the sex is pretty good afterward, but it’s a part of life with him that I hadn’t anticipated.

My friendship with Gale is strained nowadays, though it goes up and down a little. He never gets used to me being married to Peeta and never treats the marriage like it’s valid. He’s polite to Peeta when they meet and he never says a word about my marriage when we are around other people but when we are alone he doesn’t treat it with any form of respect. I let him talk that way because I feel I owe him the right to be a little bitter. He supported me beyond what anyone could have asked when I was pregnant and now he has to watch me live together with the boy who unknowingly got me so in the first place. If Gale thought of Peeta as a rival before it’s got to be even more complicated and frustrating for him now.

A few months before our first wedding anniversary Mother declares her intention of hosting a dinner for the Hawthornes, something I find strange since she’s never been very close with any of them. Then I understand that she means for Peeta and me to be there too and I immediately protest. A dinner like that will be torture to Gale and I doubt I will have a very good time either. The situation is so confusing to me and I don’t even know if it’s okay to feel alright being married to Peeta or if I should abhor every second of it. For Peeta’s sake I want our life together to be good but I know it will be the cost of pain on Gale’s part.

The dinner happens and somehow my mother, Prim, Hazelle and Gale’s two youngest siblings manage to make it endurable by keeping up a conversation. Peeta chimes in occasionally but it’s clear that he doesn’t know how to behave in this situation and I can’t blame him. Gale never says a word, keeping his eyes on his food, looking like a thunder cloud. I have no appetite at all and barely finish a third of my meal. When Peeta realizes I’m done he reaches over and switches our plates, setting his empty one in front of me while he finishes the leftovers on mine. It’s a simple gesture, something we’ve done a few times before when I’ve put more food on my plate than I can finish, but I find myself hoping Gale didn’t notice. As simple as the gesture is it is also intimate. When the dinner is finally over Peeta excuses himself on account of having promised Haymitch to stop by with some bread before nightfall and I fight the instinct to go with him. I stay for another thirty minutes, then I head home, finding Peeta there. He’s on the couch with his sketchpad and I walk over and curl up next to him.

When the Victory Tour for the 76th Games nears its end Peeta and I travel to the Capitol on the government’s orders. Occasionally previous victors take part in the festivities at the palace but it’s rare. We’re not there to enjoy ourselves, we’re there to film an interview that will air on our wedding anniversary as part of a commemorative celebration. We sit together on the same loveseat we did our post-Game interview on. Portia and Cinna have dressed us in matching white and red outfits and Caesar Flickerman cheerfully tells us not to be shy about showing our affection for one another. I find it more difficult to show affection for Peeta when there’s a camera on us, a contrast to how things were before the wedding. Luckily we are now both so accustomed to touching each other and sitting closely together that the affection we do show comes off as very genuine. During the interview I let Peeta do most of the talking, adding just a few comments here and there about how amazing it is to be married to Peeta and how delightful these past twelve months have been and other bouts of nonsense. A knot forms in my stomach when Caesar asks us if Panem can expect to soon hear the joyous news that we are expecting a baby but Peeta, wonderful Peeta, answers that he hopes not, citing that we are both very young and that he is selfish and wants to keep me all to himself for a few more years before sharing me with our children. It’s the perfect thing to say, giving us time in a manner that everyone seems to think is incredibly romantic. It earns him a kiss from me on camera. Once the interview is over we head straight for the train and talk about how much we want to be back home.

 

 

Living in the Victor’s Village and never having to wonder where our next meal is coming from means that Peeta and I have a better life than most others in District 12 but it does not mean that we are blind to what goes on in town. Whispers of rebellion were carried across the districts during the summer and it caused President Snow to tighten the snare around our necks. More peacekeepers, stricter enforcement of rules, even smaller tesserae. I’m nervous any time I see a peacekeeper that I don’t know from before, feeling that every step I take might have an impact on other people. Nothing is being said out loud but it’s hard to ignore the feeling that President Snow is fearing another uprising and will stop at nothing to nip it in the bud.

Since we have enough to feed ourselves Peeta and I do what we can to help others who aren’t as fortunate. I go hunting, though a lot more carefully nowadays, and most of the game I catch I sell or trade for bargain prices. I would give the meat away for free but people around here have a way of cherishing their pride more than a full stomach. Peeta bakes more now than he did during summer and every evening after dark he walks into town and hands out bread to at least a few of those who need it but his basket never seems to carry enough. Once he came home late from this errand and had me worried sick when he told me that he got delayed by a peacekeeper who demanded to know what he was doing out with a basket full of bread after dark. Thankfully he is good at lying on the spot and claimed he was on his way to see his family and that he had tried a new recipe that he wanted them to give their opinion on. The peacekeeper still detained him for over an hour before he decided to believe him. When even Hunger Games victors aren’t safe from scrutiny I wonder how scared President Snow really is. From that day on I always go with Peeta when he goes on his rounds, knowing I will worry too much if he goes alone.

 

 

In early March Peeta comes down sick. It’s the first time I’ve seen him have more than the sniffles and it’s a little strange to me. My mother always says that you never really know a person until you’ve been around them when they’re sick. Peeta is still very much the same, only his voice gets different, his face has the typical look of someone with a fever and runny nose and he doesn’t have the energy to do much out of bed. On his request I call his parents to let them know we won’t be coming to dinner and why. Then I ask him if he needs anything from town before I head out to the woods but he shakes his head and heads up the stairs to go to bed.

When I get back I find Peeta’s mother in the kitchen. The sight of her startles me and I nearly drop my game bag on the floor. She shoots me a look, then continues to clean the kitchen counter with angry motions.

“I thought it best that I come and look after him” she says. “Clearly I was right. I always knew you weren’t fit to be a wife.”

“Is Peeta worse?” I ask, careful to remove my muddy shoes at the door.

“He’s ill with a fever” says my mother-in-law sharply. She looks at me with clear disapproval. “You’re his wife. You’re supposed to stay at home and look after him until he gets better. Marriage is not about wearing a pretty dress at your wedding and having your meals together. It’s about taking care of one another. No matter how tired you may be or how many other things you knew you could have done with your life.”

The bitter tone in her voice surprises me but not as much as her being here in the first place. I would have never pegged Peeta’s mother for the nurturing type. Somehow I had imagined that when Peeta and his brothers were sick growing up they still had to go to school and help out in the house and have their mother tell them not to make a fuss. If anybody took care of them I assumed it was their father.

On the kitchen island sits a tray with rolls and jam. Mrs. Mellark puts the rag down and pours a cup of tea from the kettle on the stove. Quickly I move to take the tray and offer to bring it upstairs but she snorts and grabs it herself.

“Don’t waste your energy on it. I’m here now so you don’t have to bother.”

She goes upstairs with the tray and I’m left standing there, feeling like an idiot. I don’t like having her in the house and hopefully I can convince Peeta to ask her to leave. I can’t help but wonder if her main reason for showing up is to put me in my place and make me feel completely useless.

I pick up my game bag and wash the fresh greens I gathered in the woods. Everything else I sold or traded for as little as I could get away with but I thought some fresh greens would do good in a soup. No doubt my mother-in-law will stand over my shoulder and tell me exactly what I’m doing wrong in preparing it.

Later on when the soup is finished I go to get Peeta but his mother protests that he is sleeping and should not be disturbed. Feeling provoked I argue that he needs to eat if he’s going to get better and that the hot soup is good for his sore throat.

“Then I will bring him a bowl upstairs when he’s woken up” replies Mrs. Mellark.

I sit down at the table brimming with irritation. Peeta’s nowhere near so bad that he can’t come down the stairs and sit at the table. With him staying upstairs that means it’s just me and his mother having dinner together, a nightmare scenario if I ever saw one. Luckily she doesn’t talk much while we eat, except to point out what I could have done better with the soup and to criticise me for not cleaning up the kitchen before we sat down to eat.

She announces that she intends to stay until Peeta is better, which almost makes me run straight to my mother and ask what the fastest way is of curing the flu. Instead I decide the next morning that I might as well escape to the woods during the day. Peeta doesn’t seem to mind, or even notice that I’m gone, and I won’t get in the way of the witch he calls Mother. Unfortunately it’s quite cold outside and I can’t stay out for long. Even after taking my sweet time bartering at the Hob it’s only an hour past lunch when I return to the house.

Peeta has moved downstairs and is now on the couch, covered in blankets. He smiles when he sees me and asks how my day has been. I reply by asking him the same question and he claims he’s doing better even though I’m pretty sure his fever has gone up.

“Where’s your mother?” I ask, removing my jacket and shaking the snow off of it.

“Upstairs” croaks Peeta. “I think she’s reorganizing my closet. She’s not good with the whole idle hands thing...”

I shoot him a look.

“She’s not reorganizing _my_ closet too, is she?”

Peeta just shrugs and closes his eyes to get some sleep. I walk over and place a kiss on his forehead, finding it burning hot. It reminds me that I have in fact seen him sick before, in the arena. That time he was far worse off than he is now and if there’s any truth to what my mother said then I guess I got to know the real him fairly early on. I dismiss the thought, not wanting to linger on memories from the arena, and walk into the kitchen to get something to eat.

The place is spotlessly clean to the point where I’m afraid to touch anything. Mrs. Mellark sure has kept busy. She comes down the stairs just as I’m done buttering my roll and doesn’t look pleased to see me.

“This place is a mess” she says.

“Looks clean to me” I reply, looking around the room and taking a big bite from my roll, sending crumbs flying everywhere.

“The whole house is” says Mrs. Mellark. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you to keep a clean house? I’m surprised. She, at least, was born and raised with some class. Then again she married a nobody from the Seam so I shouldn’t expect much from her.”

I’m tempted to reply that she should be glad my mother did, or else she might have been the one currently named Mrs. Mellark. I think the better of it, for Peeta’s sake if nothing else. As much as I hate his mother it’s clear that she’s not going anywhere and if the two of us are fighting it’s going to be an even more unpleasant stay.

“Speaking of my mother” I say, trying to change the subject. “I’m heading over there with some herbs I gathered in the woods. I’ll ask her to make something for Peeta to take.”

“Don’t bother” answers Mrs. Mellark. “I’ve already ordered remedies from the Capitol. They’re expected to be here by tomorrow.”

“Well okay then” I say, at a loss for things to say.

“I’m surprised you haven’t done that already.”

“My mother’s brews usually work just as well” I say.

“Then why wait until now to go and ask her for them?” She sighs in what I can only describe as a theatrical manner. “It’s not very comforting at all to know that my youngest is married off to a Seam girl who doesn’t even think to try and care for him when he’s sick. I fear the day when you become the mother of my grandchildren. It will be up to Peeta to give them a loving home and to see to it that they are well taken care of.”

It takes everything I got not to lash out at her over that remark. Who the hell is _she_ to talk about providing a loving home? She may not know it but I’ve seen with my own two eyes how lovingly she treats her children. Moreover, _she_ has seen with _her_ own eyes how hard I’ve struggled to take care of Prim, and how I fought to save and heal Peeta when he was sick in the arena. Her words are insulting in more ways than I can describe and I know I have to get out of her sight right away or I will say or do something that I’ll live to regret.

“Just as well if you can’t bear children” continues Mrs. Mellark in a mutter, more to herself than to me. She grabs a rag and begins to wipe the counter clean from my crumbs. “He’d love them too much. He’s weak that way, just like his father. No sane person in the districts love their children wholeheartedly.”

It surprises me so much that I stop walking towards the door and turn to look at her. She barely seems aware that I’m there anymore, taking her bottled up anger out on the counter with the rag. It’s strange but in this moment I actually feel that we have something in common. At least part of her demeanour towards her children seems to come from a fear of loving them too much and hearing their names drawn at the Reaping, at least if what she just said is anything to go by. I can understand that. I can understand that better than she knows. It doesn’t excuse her harsh words and it certainly can’t excuse the physical blows but her frame of mind matches my own. Keeping her children at arm’s length is how she must have protected herself from the pain of seeing one of them in the Games. What must she have gone through when Peeta was in the arena? When Cato wounded him with his sword? When I dropped the nest of tracker jackers on him and the careers?

Without a word I walk out the kitchen door and head over to my old house. For some reason it scares me to know that I have things in common with that woman. I don’t ever want to be as unpleasant as she is, no matter what the justification. I spend the rest of the day complaining to my mother and Prim, coming up with progressively worse things to call my mother-in-law, ignoring all of Prim’s attempts to explain away Mrs. Mellark’s words and behaviour with concern for her son. It is most reluctantly that I go back home in the evening and crawl into bed next to Peeta.

The following two days I spend almost entirely with Mother and Prim. Mrs. Mellark has taken to cleaning the whole house and reorganizing almost everything and I can’t wait until she’s gone when I can make a big mess and put everything back where it _used_ to be. Then after two days I, too, get sick and my mother decides to keep me in her house until I’m feeling better.

After a few days Peeta shows up, well enough to be up out of bed. He brings me back home, where I’m happy to note the absence of his mother, and tucks me into bed. He then takes care of me until I’m feeling better, the way I guess a spouse is supposed to do.

 

 

Eventually it’s time for the 77th Hunger Games. I sit with Peeta and a drunk Haymitch up on the stage while Effie draws the names and a sixteen year old girl and an eighteen year old boy are the unlucky winners. They’re both kids from the Seam, neither looks like they’ve had a proper meal in months and I don’t detect much of a fighting spirit in either of them. I strongly doubt that District 12 will have a winner this year.

In the Capitol things progress much the same way they did last year, except Haymitch is acting a little out of sorts. He barely gives a damn about our tributes and spends most of his time drinking with Chaff and Beetee, leaving Peeta and me to try and keep our pair alive. The girl’s name is Lou, the boy’s name Zeb, but I don’t think Haymitch even knows that. He calls them “the girl” and “the new boy”, if he talks to them or about them at all.

I feel a bit more at home among the other mentors this year. Some are familiar faces from last year, others are strangers to me. Millie Helm, unsurprisingly, does not mentor this year. Peeta and I keep mostly to ourselves, not having the same need of companionship with other victors even though Haymitch tries to get us to socialize more. Some of the other mentors make an effort to talk to us but mostly they seem to enjoy teasing me which annoys me to no end, especially since nobody seems to be ribbing Peeta.

In spite of not seeming to care about our tributes Haymitch orders Peeta and me out on the streets every day to perform our lovebird charade. On one such occasion we’re approached by a young woman with dark green hair and eyes in an unnatural hue of green to match. She has a baby, an eight month old girl, and she wants us to sign the bottom of the child’s tiny little green shoes. We oblige and then Peeta asks if he can pick her up. The smile on his face when he lifts the little girl would be contagious if it wasn’t for the impact seeing him with a baby has on me. He looks so charming with a baby in his arms and coos with the little girl while the mother fans herself and tries not to faint. The baby girl looks happy to be in his arms and laughs when he makes funny faces at her. Her chubby hands reach out and grab strains of his curly hair and it must hurt when she tugs on them but Peeta just smiles. I begin to feel sick to my stomach, wondering if our baby is a girl and imagining that I’m actually watching Peeta hold our daughter. After a few minutes he hands the baby back to the mother, takes my arm and leads me away from there. I don’t say a word for almost two hours and he lets me be, perhaps thinking that I’m consumed with thoughts about our possible future children, thankfully having no idea that my mind is on the child we already share.

Lou dies at the initial bloodbath. A boy from District 1 stabs her with a sword after she’s fallen to the ground. Zeb does a bit better but there are ten other tributes left when he drinks water that isn’t clean, ignoring what we’ve taught him about surviving in the wild. His death pains last for over an hour, ending with him vomiting blood and clawing at the ground before grunting and passing out, never to wake up again. Peeta, Haymitch and I watch it all unfold and I have to fight hard to hold back my tears because only twenty minutes before Zeb drank the bad water Haymitch and Peeta had gotten enough sponsor money to send him some purifiers. When both our tributes are dead Haymitch tries even harder to get us downstairs with the other mentors but we isolate ourselves in our room and barely even talk to each other. How the hell are we supposed to be able to do this year after year after year?

We hardly see Haymitch at all during the rest of the Games. Effie doesn’t spend much time with us either, not that I blame her. She does, however, give me another contraceptive injection. Where she finds them I will never know but I am very grateful to accept it.

This year’s winner is the boy from District 1. Peeta and I make only a brief appearance at the festivities afterward and I am very annoyed to discover that the other victors have amused themselves by declaring Finnick and Johanna the ambassadors whose job it is to make us join the fun. This role no doubt bestowed upon them because they were in our wedding party. I find Johanna thoroughly unpleasant and Finnick rather slimy so I barely say a word to them. Haymitch barks at us the next morning for not trying to connect with the others and tells us that it’s imperative to our future that we form bonds with some of the other victors. I tell Haymitch that it’s imperative for his future not to say anything further on the subject. He replies that his friends are probably too good for the likes of us anyway.

Back home in District 12 I think I see a bit of a change in Haymitch. He’s not quite so drunk all the time anymore and he seems a bit more brooding than before, which is no small feat. I mention it to Peeta who says he’s noticed the same thing but he feels it’s better to leave Haymitch alone. If he wants to talk to us he knows where to find us.

 

 

In the middle of July Peeta and I wake up early in the morning from a loud banging on the door. I sit up straight, heart pounding in my chest, wondering who is sick or hurt. I tell Peeta to hurry up and get dressed and I run down the stairs wearing his robe over my light nightgown. Peeta doesn’t move quite so fast but I hear his steps coming down the stairs when I open the door, finding a peacekeeper standing there with a grave expression.

I hardly dare to breathe for the first few seconds, wondering what offenses we have committed or what President Snow expects of us now. Does he know about our contraceptives? Did I sell game to a peacekeeper who can no longer be trusted? Or, heavens forbid, is this about Prim or Gale or somebody else I care about?

Peeta makes it to the bottom of the stairs and walks up behind me. He puts a hand on my shoulder but sounds completely calm when he asks the peacekeeper what he wants.

“Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark” says the peacekeeper. “You will be at the square by the justice building in twenty minutes.”

“What, like _this_?” asks Peeta, motioning to our lack of proper clothing.

“Get dressed. Quickly.”

Knowing better than to ask questions or protest we hurry back upstairs and put on some proper clothes. I braid my hair as quickly as I can while Peeta curses over his prosthetic leg which sometimes gets caught in his pant leg when he’s getting dressed or undressed. When we’re both done we go back downstairs and follow the peacekeeper out to a car where Haymitch sits, looking like he wishes he was a lot more drunk than he is.

“What did we do now?” asks Peeta in a barely audible whisper.

“I don’t think you are to blame for this one” mutters Haymitch in response.

We are taken to the justice building and led up on stage, neither one of us asking any questions. Mayor Undersee is there along with a new head peacekeeper and about fifteen of his colleagues. Down on the ground there are at least a dozen more. It feels a little like Reaping Day but there are no chairs for us to sit on, no camera crews and no Effie Trinket. Down in the town square a large crowd has gathered, most of them looking like they’ve just been woken up. It’s Sunday and it can’t be much later than eight in the morning. Anyone who can sleep in probably attempted to do just that.

My eyes trail over the crowd, hoping to spot Gale. I can’t see him but my eyes find Peeta’s oldest brother, Scotti, and his fiancée. The rest of the family is not with them. I lean closer to Peeta and tell him that his brother is there and ask him if he’s seen my mother or Prim. I’m not sure if it’s a good sign or a bad sign that I can’t seem to find my family or Gale’s.

Mayor Undersee, who looks just as uncomfortable as he does during the reapings, walks up to the microphone and addresses the crowd from a note he has in his hand. I feel myself trembling a little, searching Peeta’s hand for comfort. What the mayor has to say is not good news. The people of District 12 have been behaving irresponsibly and ungratefully, according to Mayor Undersee’s message. The Capitol, however, loves us like a parent loves their child and just like any good parent they now seek to chastise the insubordinate. I don’t know whether I should laugh or cry at the analogy but I do know that their idea of chastisement is no laughing matter.

A curfew is now in place. Nobody is to go outside after sundown unless they have a very good excuse, such as being in need of emergent medical attention. The Hob is to be more closely monitored and any unlawful trading, which is the vast majority of all Hob trading, will be prohibited. Other similar restrictions follow, aiming to hamper our lives and keep us in check.

“However, the Capitol does not merely wish to place restrictions” stammers Mayor Undersee, getting to the end of his message. “As a show of good will there will now always be enough electricity to keep the fences up and protect everyone in District 12 from the wild and dangerous animals that lurk in the woods.”

My face turns pale and I gaze out into the crowd once more to see if I can find Gale. We won’t be able to go out into the woods anymore. I no longer need it to put food on the table but Gale is not as fortunate. From the corner of my eye I see Peeta shooting me a worried look but he says nothing. A slow sense of panic begins to build in my chest. If Gale can’t hunt how is his family going to eat? He can’t take out any tesserae anymore. He’s too old for that. He won’t allow his brothers to take out any either. They will starve unless I can figure out some way of helping them.

Mayor Undersee finishes reading the message and we are promptly escorted off stage. The peacekeepers let us go once we are outside the Justice Building and I turn to Haymitch hoping that he has some answers.

“What was the point of having us standing up there?” is the first thing I ask when we are able to speak freely. “We didn’t do anything.”

“By having us up there it looks like we support the restrictions” explains Haymitch.

“What? What good is that going to do?”

“Either people will be more ready to accept it since their precious victors support it. Or they will not like us so much anymore.”

“Does it matter whether or not they like us?”

“Katniss” says Peeta, getting my attention. “Gale.”

I turn in the direction he’s pointing and see the whole Hawthorne family making their way through the crowds to go home. They all look desolate and it’s no wonder that they do. Without another word to Haymitch, or Peeta, I hurry over to them.

“Did you know about this?” asks Gale over the commotion around us as soon as I’m close enough.

“No” I tell him. “They woke us up this morning and brought us here. We didn’t know anything.”

“Is there a rebellion coming?” asks Vick a little too loudly and gets shushed for his troubles.

“Of course there isn’t” says Hazelle, sounding nervous.

“This place is too crowded” says Gale. “I can barely hear myself think, let alone hear what anyone else is saying. Let’s go home.”

Together we all head for the Hawthornes’ home where we gather around the kitchen table and discuss the new developments. Even though I told them I knew nothing about this they all look to me like I have better insight than they do. It’s frustrating because I want to be able to help and I want to be able to explain what is going on but I haven’t got the first idea what this is really about.

“We should have brought Haymitch” I say, running a hand through a strain of hair that has escaped from my braid. “If anybody knows anything at all it is him.”

“Katniss, what are we supposed to do now?” asks Hazelle. “Without Gale’s game I don’t know how we’ll get enough food on the table.”

“I would offer you to come have dinner with us every night but the curfew makes that rather difficult” I mumble, wishing they weren’t my match in pride and would allow me to simply give them food.

“I could take a job” suggests Rory.

“You need to stay in school” says Gale.

“Why? So I can work in the mines? What do I need algebra for down in the mines?”

“It’s not an entirely bad idea” I admit. “He could get an after school job. Maybe Mayor Undersee could use some help.”

“Do you think he would?” asks Rory eagerly.

“I don’t know” I answer. “I could ask Madge.”

“Mayor Undersee is a good man but I can’t believe he will hire you, Rory” objects Hazelle. “Money is probably scarce for them too these days and I don’t think they will be looking to hire someone under the current circumstances. With the curfew in place you will only be able to work for two or three hours every day.”

She makes a good point. Mayor Undersee probably won’t be interested in hiring Rory for that short amount of time. Posy asks if the curfew will really be as strict as it sounds and none of the rest of us see any reason to doubt it.

“But how am I supposed to spend time with any of my friends?” complains Posy. “The sun is not up for that long when the school day ends.”

“If we can’t spend time with friends and family I don’t think the Capitol will lose any sleep over it” says Gale dryly. “The whole point of the curfew must be to keep people from socializing more than absolutely necessary.”

“But why would they care about that?” asks Vick.

“It’s a lot easier to plan and incite a revolt when you can talk to other people about it” answers Gale dryly. “They’re trying to keep us separated as much as possible so that we won’t have a fair chance at rising up against them.”

“Why would we even want to do that?” asks Vick. “It didn’t go so well last time.”

Gale doesn’t answer but I see the anger brewing inside him. I wish I could take him out to the woods and let him rant freely but unless we can find a way of getting through the electrified fence that’s not going to be an option.

“So we won’t be able to see our friends and we’ll have to go to bed hungry every night” concludes Posy, sounding so sad that it breaks my heart.

“Isn’t there _any_ other way?” asks Rory, just as affected by her tone as I am. “Isn’t there anyone who might agree to hire me?”

“The Mellarks!” I say, a little surprised that I didn’t think of them before I thought of the mayor. “You could help out in the bakery.”

“Rory can’t bake” objects Vick.

“You don’t have to. They could probably use a helping hand with the dishes, or with cleaning up in the store.”

“I could do that!” says Rory with excitement. “Please Katniss, will you ask them?”

“Don’t” objects Gale.

“Why not?” complains Rory.

“Yes, why not?” I ask with a frown.

“It would be charity. They would only hire him as a favour to you.”

“How is it charity if Rory has to work for his money?” I ask.

“I don’t want him around Mrs. Mellark” argues Gale. “I don’t trust her. She has an evil quality about her.”

“Gale!” scolds Hazelle but I ignore the jab at my mother-in-law since I don’t think he’s too far off the mark.

“She won’t do anything to Rory” I say. “She’s got a bad temper, I’ll agree on that, but she doesn’t lash out at people she doesn’t know all that well.”

“Come on Gale” says Rory. “The least we could do is ask them.”

Five pairs of eyes look at Gale and he leans back in his chair with a displeased expression on his face. I’m not sure if he dislikes the idea because he feels it would be charity or because he doesn’t want to owe even more to Peeta and his family. Perhaps it’s a little of both.

“Gale...” I say. “I hate being indebted, you know that. Still I wouldn’t hesitate for a second if it came down to being in debt or having Prim starve.”

He looks at me for a minute, then sighs and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“Alright then. But only if they can actually have use for him!”

Rory eagerly turns to me.

“Can you go and ask them right away?”

 “Okay” I nod, getting up from my seat. I give Gale’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze and feel him shrug me off. Trying my best to ignore his rebuff I grab my jacket from the hanger by the door. “I’ll stop by here again later today, or maybe tomorrow.”

“Thanks Katniss!” hollers Rory on my way out.

I leave the house and begin to walk to town. It’s a beautiful summer’s day but not a lot of people are outdoors. Most are probably at home discussing this new development. I’m a little glad that the streets are fairly empty. I know people will be looking at me either for answers or to place some blame and I don’t feel like being the recipient of either today.

When I reach the bakery I go around the corner to the back door which is the one the family uses to come and go to their own quarters. It occurs to me that with the curfew in place I won’t have to come here once a week for family dinners and that makes me feel a little better. Before I knock on the door I stop for a moment and look around the now familiar back of the house. None of the people who live here, and perhaps not even Peeta, knows that this is the place where I found hope after my father’s death. It’s somehow fitting that I’m coming here to help Gale’s family find hope of being able to put food on the table.

I form a fist with my hand and knock on the door, hoping that it won’t be my mother-in-law answering the door and wondering if Peeta might actually be here. The door opens and it’s Mr. Mellark standing there. He smiles and gestures for me to come inside.

“Katniss, what a lovely surprise!”

“Hey Katniss” greets me Ryean, the younger of Peeta’s two brothers, as I step inside. He’s busy taking bread out of the oven and the smell is lovely.

“Hey” I reply, feeling a little strange being here without Peeta.

“What can I do for you?” asks Mr. Mellark, pulling out a chair for me to sit on.

“I come to ask a favour” I say, taking the seat but declining the danish I’m being offered. “I was just with the Hawthorne family. As you can imagine, these new regulations makes things quite difficult for them.”

“Gale won’t be able to hunt” nods Mr. Mellark.

“The Hawthornes are no worse off than any other families” mutters Ryean. “We’re all in the same boat. You have to work to earn your keep.”

“Only there’s not enough work to go around” I point out. “Nor, do I suspect, will there be enough supplies to feed everyone even if they had the money. That is why I’m here. I mean, work. Work is why I’m here. Gale does not make enough money in the mines to support the whole family but if his younger brother took a job after school he could contribute at least a little.”

Mr. Mellark takes a seat opposite me and looks troubled. I know he doesn’t want to tell me no unless he has to and he doesn’t want to see Gale’s family starve. Clearly though it’s not quite as easy for him to hire Rory as I had hoped.

“It could only be for a few hours per day” he notes. “The curfew and all...”

“Yes” I agree. “A few hours is all that they need. Rory is smart and he is a hard worker and he will do anything you ask him to do.”

“I have no doubt” says Mr. Mellark, giving me half a smile.

“Dad...” pipes up Ryean. “It’s not a good idea. Mother will be... Well, you know how Mother will react. Besides, the kid can’t bake, can he?”

“I suppose we could use an extra hand in the afternoons” says Mr. Mellark tentatively.

“He could do dishes, help with the cleaning up, run errands...” I nod enthusiastically. “He would be great at that. I promise.”

“Father...” says Ryean in a tone that implies a gentle warning.

“I can bring him by tomorrow after school” I offer. “You could meet him, talk to him, see what you think of him.”

“That won’t be necessary” says Mr. Mellark, getting up from his seat. “If you say he will do good work then I trust that he will. Alright Katniss, I will give him a try.”

With an uncharacteristic squeal I fly to my feet and throw my arms around my father-in-law.

“Oh, thank you, thank you! You will not be disappointed in him, I promise!”

I hear footsteps from upstairs. Ryean looks nervous and I don’t have to take a guess as to who it might be. Eager to be out the door before my mother-in-law comes downstairs I give Peeta’s father a kiss on the cheek and a thankful smile.

“I’ll give Rory the news. Thank you again! Thank you very much.”

“Bye now, dear” says Mr. Mellark.

“See you later, Katniss...” says Ryean, eyes fixated on the stairs.

I hurry out the door with only seconds to spare before Mrs. Mellark comes downstairs. I stop outside and smile widely, overwhelmed with relief that Gale’s family have a better chance of fighting off starvation. My smile fades when I hear my mother-in-law’s sharp voice as she is told the news.

“Are you out of your mind?” she barks inside the kitchen, her words muffled but still audible from where I’m standing by the door. “Have you completely lost your senses? We can’t afford to hire anyone, even for a few hours. We barely make ends meet as it is! Now you’re going to let us starve so you can help that tramp from the Seam feed her lover’s family. A disgrace is what it is! Where is your loyalty? No wonder Peeta lets her walk all over him when his father is just the same. Cowards and weaklings, all of you!”

I don’t want to hear what else she has to say and I definitely don’t want Mr. Mellark to change his mind and call me back inside to tell me so. I hurry off from the bakery and head back home and my mind is on what I overheard Peeta’s mother say about their financial situation. Are things that bad? Peeta never said anything about that. I always assumed that since they are merchants they have food on the table and some money to spare, especially now with so many peacekeepers around. Though perhaps they’re not buying as much bread as before and with the new restrictions in place I suppose most other people won’t be able to afford bakery bread too often either. Have I really put Peeta’s family in a tricky spot financially? I desperately want to help Gale and his family but not at the cost of taking food from the Mellarks’ table.

The thought of the other things Mrs. Mellark said stings inside me. I’m not surprised to hear her refer to me as “the tramp from the Seam” even though she’s never called me that to my face. It does concern me however that she referred to Gale as my lover. Does she think that is what he is? She already dislikes me and believing that I’m unfaithful to her son can’t go a long way towards helping with that. I’m not worried that she might share that suspicion with Peeta because he knows I would never do something like that, regardless of the nature of our marriage. It could still be dangerous though if she talks about it to the wrong people. Especially now.

I reach the Victor’s Village and I wonder if I should stop by to see Mother and Prim. I decide there’s no need for it. Their lives won’t be affected much by the new regulations. Instead I go straight home where I find Peeta flung up on the kitchen table for some reason, sketchpad in his hands, working on something with a look of deep concentration on his face. It doesn’t seem to be all that important though because when he hears me coming he puts it aside right away.

“What are you doing on the table?” I ask.

“I needed to stretch out my bad leg and I wanted to get a good view of Buttercup while he was flung up on the windowsill outside.”

“... Alright, then.”

He gets down from the table and I shift my weight from one foot to the other, wondering what he will think about Rory’s new job. Sunlight is still shining in from the window where I see Buttercup stretched out on the sill, his dirty paws having made marks on the glass. I want to go over and shoo him away but Peeta’s hand on the small of my back stops me as he passes by me to set his sketchpad down on the small table by the door, the one we usually put the mail on.

“How is Gale and his family?” he asks me.

“Worried” I answer.

“Yeah, no kidding.” He walks over to the window and knocks on it, waking up Buttercup who hisses at him. Peeta shoos the cat away and turns to me. “Is there anything we can do?”

“I... I got your father to agree to hiring Rory. After school, for a few hours before the curfew is in place. To increase their income. Gale’s family’s, I mean.”

Peeta absorbs the news and slowly nods his head.

“That’s a good idea.”

“You think so?” I ask.

“I’m going to call my father, though, make sure he knows we’ll be paying Rory’s salary and that Rory can’t know about it.”

He wouldn’t be saying that if he wasn’t well aware of his family’s financial situation. The way he says it also implies that he doesn’t think I offered for us to pay the salary, yet he says it in a way that doesn’t offend me. Relieved that he is so kind and understanding I walk up to him and hug him close.

“Thank you” I say.

“Me? It’s my father who hired him.”

“Yeah but you are you.”

He doesn’t need any further explanation than that. He gives me a kiss on the cheek and then goes to call his father. Feeling drained after everything that has happened since I woke up this morning I sit down by the table with a sigh. Life is not going to be easy from here on out.

A memory stirs as my hand plays with the fabric of the tablecloth. It’s green, with darker green lines running through it to form a chequered pattern. I bought it in the Capitol during the last Games when Peeta and I were out reminding people that we are madly in love while our tributes were training. Cloth has been harder to come by since after our own Games. It’s not very noticeable in District 12 because we have such meager supplies of fabrics anyway and most people wear hand-me-downs but in the Capitol it was considered a deep and disturbing problem. Effie, my new prep team and even Cinna mentioned that good textiles have become scarce. It’s gotten better now but it was especially bad in the year after our Games and the time leading up to our wedding. I was too wrapped up in sorrow and guilt at that time to bother to care but it feels like pieces of a puzzle are slowly coming together even if I can't see the full picture yet.

Shortage of fabric. The news report I saw during the Victory Tour saying there was an uprising in District 8. How emancipated the tributes from Eight have looked these last three years and how resigned their mentors have seemed. Even victors don’t dare to discuss among each other what goes on in our districts but something clearly hasn’t gone right in the textile district.

Peeta comes back and takes me out of my thoughts. He sits down opposite me and reaches down to adjust his artificial leg. I don’t think it seems to fit all that well and I hope they will be able to make him a new one when we go to the Capitol for the Games next year. It’s a long while until then and Peeta doesn’t complain but I’ve made up my mind to at least make some enquiries. Whenever I see his discomfort about his leg I’m reminded how it’s my fault that he lost it in the first place.

Just like I instinctively know that it might be my fault, however inadvertently, that District 12 is now under stricter ruling.

 

 

I lie awake that night, unable to sleep. It’s hot and humid and no breeze comes from the open window, making the sheets stick to my body in a way I can’t stand. I’m tempted to throw the comforter on the floor but Peeta likes having the weight of it on him when he sleeps.

I can’t stop thinking about the latest developments and of all the little signs that have pointed to actions like these being implemented. Before Peeta’s and my Victory Tour I know there were talks of rebellion and civil unrest but when I came back to District 12 after having my baby things seemed to have calmed down and Panem seemed to be forgetting all about silly things like starvation and oppression in the face of the big wedding. In hindsight I should have found that change odd but I was so wrapped up in my sorrow over having to give my child away that I barely saw anything around me. We’ve been kept quite isolated since then, Peeta and me, not having the opportunity to travel the districts and see what the moods are like there. All we’ve seen is what’s been happening in District 12, which has mostly been murmurs about wanting things to be different, which in itself isn’t new. Could it be that the spark Snow feared we had ignited didn’t go out? Could there still be a fire burning in the districts, however small?

My thoughts are disturbed by Peeta who begins to squirm next to me. He’s having a nightmare. I give him a gentle shake to wake him up and he looks disoriented for a moment before he recognizes me and his whole face relaxes. As if on cue we both shift in bed so that we’re lying facing one another. Peeta’s left knee brushes against me and it sends a little shiver down my spine. I don’t think I will ever get used to feeling the stump. It amazes me how Peeta can be so at peace with having lost his leg but then again a leg is a small price to pay to survive.

“You haven’t slept” says Peeta.

“No” I admit.

“Are you worried about Gale and his family? About your mother and Prim?”

“My family will be okay” I answer. “They have food on the table, thankfully. Gale’s family will probably be okay too, thanks to your father.” There’s a part of me that really wants to talk about the rumours of rebellion but I don’t feel completely at ease to do so. For all I know there’s a jabber jay sitting just outside the window or some form of recording device placed in our home. The only place I’d feel completely safe talking about it is in the woods, which we don’t have access to anymore. “I’ve been thinking about the way things were before” I say instead. “When my father had died... and we were starving.”

“Hopefully it won’t come to that for too many families” says Peeta. “There’s always been starvation in District 12 but... I don’t think these new regulations will affect all that many people. Most have been making do without game. People will continue to make do.”

“Yeah but what about those who can’t?”

“I don’t know. I guess I will have to bake more bread.”

“You’re not planning on continuing your evening rounds? Peeta you can’t!”

“Of course I can” replies Peeta. “Those people need to eat. We’re talking about families with growing children.”

“We are talking about breaking curfew for no acceptable reason. They could have you imprisoned, or punished in some harsh way I don’t want to think about.”

“I don’t think they would do me any physical harm” objects Peeta. “They need to show me off to everyone when they watch the Games on TV.”

“Unless they decide to make an example of you” I say. “President Snow might love that. Peeta Mellark snaps, the Capitol shows that victors are not exempt from punishment. Or he’ll claim you had an accident that unfortunately left you without a head. They would probably love to showcase me as the grieving widow. The star-crossed lovers from District 12 only had a brief period of happiness, oh such tragedy. Panem can be unified in grief.”

“Since when do you advocate playing it safe when people need our help? I can’t just sit here in my comfortable home in the Victor’s Village and do nothing while people are starving in the Seam.”

“Peeta there are too many hungry mouths, you can’t possibly feed them all” I remark softly. “It’s not worth risking your life for. It’s not.”

“If you could get out into the woods you would still hunt and sell or give away the game” points out Peeta. “Hunting is what you do. Baking is what I do.”

“Protecting you is what I do. We’ll have to figure out something else. I can’t have you out on the streets after dark.”

His hand plays with the braid that falls over my shoulder. He studies the dark hair with a sad expression.

“I remember so vividly how you looked that day in the rain when we were kids” he says. “I don’t think I will ever forget. How thin, how resigned, how sad. Then I tossed you that bread and you had something to eat and then you found other means to feed yourself and you survived. Your cheeks didn’t look so hollow anymore; Prim’s clothes weren’t hanging off her body the same way anymore. How can I let people starve when I know what a loaf of bread can do?”

I have no answer to offer. I know his heart is in the right place and I wish just as fervently as he does that we could help. I just don’t think that risking his safety every night is the right way to go about it. Selfish as ever I worry about how I would fare if he wasn’t with me anymore. Mentoring in the Hunger Games is torturous enough as it is and dealing with the memories from the arena is still overwhelming. Without Peeta there to help me through it I don’t know what I would do.

“What you’ve been doing with the bread, Peeta, is great” I tell him. “But we need something bigger to happen. Something... I don’t know, something that brings about...” I don’t finish the line of thought but he seems to understand. He pulls me closer and I curl up into his embrace. “Promise me you won’t go out there after sundown.”

“I think we both know I can’t sneak out of the house without you noticing.”

“I’m serious about this.”

Peeta nods. Feeling a little bit better I begin to relax. The closeness of Peeta’s body is comforting and reassuring but it’s almost unbearably hot in the humid summer night. It seems that Peeta agrees for after a few minutes he groans and let’s go of me, rolling over on his back and reaching down on the floor for something.

“What?” I ask.

“It’s impossible to sleep in here; it’s like an oven” he groans and finds what he is looking for. He sits up and begins to put his prosthetic leg back on. “Do you think we can be arrested for sleeping on our own porch?”

“Why would we--”

“Come.”

He gets out of bed and puzzled by this turn of events I follow. We walk down the stairs and through the house to get to the back. There is a large porch that leads down to the lawn and when we step out on it I can feel that the air is at least a little cooler out here. Peeta surveys the porch while biting his lower lip.

“Move the chairs to the side, would you?” he asks.

I see no reason to protest so I do as asked. Meanwhile Peeta goes back inside and he comes back a few minutes later with the tiny decorative pillows that normally sit on the couch and with the large, soft blanket I like to curl up under in front of the fireplace in the winter.

“We’re still in our house” he says. “Technically there is roof over our heads.”

“Sleeping out here?”

“Beats the suffocating heat up in our bedroom” shrugs Peeta. “Come on, we’ve slept on more uncomfortable surfaces before.”

He gets down on the wooden floor and after a moment’s hesitation I follow. Soon thereafter I drift to sleep, my head resting on Peeta’s shoulder and a blanket tucked safely around me. I sleep better that night out on the patio than I ever slept in the soft beds in the Capitol. I may be laying on hard wooden boards but I’m sleeping out in the open, being free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading =) Let me know what you think of it.
> 
> There might be more of Peeta's mother coming up; I haven't decided yet if I should add anything. I'm a little fascinated by her as a character. I don't believe she's just flat-out horrible with no redeeming qualities; I think there are a lot of other sides to her that we never got to see because we only had Katniss' perspective and to Katniss Mrs. Mellark is the woman who beats the boy who saved her life (who is also the boy she's falling in love with). Mrs. Mellark may not be loving or nurturing but there's got to be something more to her than beating her kids. Okay, I'm babbling so I'll stop now =)
> 
> Oh, and I decided to give Peeta's brothers names after all (obviously). Might still go back and change them at a later time if we get a canon name for one or both.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not particularly fond of this chapter myself but here it is anyway. Hope you'll enjoy it more than I do.

That winter is one of the most difficult ones District 12 has seen in the past half century. As if President Snow and his people ordered the weather especially for us the winter is biting cold with heavy snowfalls and cold winds that dig through all layers of clothes and make you cold down to your bones. Those who are fighting to feed themselves now also have to fight to keep warm. There’s not enough coal to go around, ironically, and very little access to proper firewood. Many families don’t have enough warm clothes to keep themselves shielded from the bitter cold and I see more runny noses and hear more deep coughs that winter than I believe I ever have before. My mother and Prim are kept busy tending to the sick but without access to the herbs I used to collect in the woods there’s not a lot they can do. Up until this summer I’ve been able to order some herbs and medicines from the Capitol, officially for my own personal use, but they place heavy restrictions on that now and what little I am able to order could barely help _me_ get through a cold, let alone the number of people who come to see my mother.

Food and supplies of every kind become more difficult to come by. There is not as much imported to our district anymore, which is saying something since we were never spoiled with a generous supply of goods and food from other districts. Our rations as victors are downsized too. We can still get anything we want but only enough to fit what they assume our personal needs would be. This means Peeta couldn’t bake and distribute to the starving people in the Seam even I let him. He still orders as generous shipments as he is allowed to and gives whatever we don’t need to his family, some of which in turn ends up on Gale’s family’s table, but it’s nowhere near what he used to do. At least I know Gale’s family has enough to eat.

Now that I can’t go into the woods anymore I have a hard time filling my days with useful activities. For a few weeks I read a lot but that grows tiresome. Peeta spends a lot of time taking care of Haymitch, who is going through a bender, and sometimes I go there with him but I prefer going over to my old house and being with my sister. Prim doesn’t always have time for me, what with all the sick people at their door, but it feels good to sit in that kitchen and that living room and be around one of the two people I know for sure that I love. The other person remains out of my reach but never far from my thoughts.

The town square goes through a series of alarming changes. A pranger, a flogging pole and even gallows are put up by the new head peacekeeper and his crew of about fifty or so new peacekeepers. Many of the old ones still serve as well but those who used to be the most lenient mysteriously disappear and nobody knows where they went. Corporal punishment becomes par of the course and almost on a daily basis people are dragged to the square to be punished for transgressions that have been overlooked for so long that we forgot that they were even forbidden in the first place. A steady stream of wounded come to my mother’s door and there’s little she can do to help them. It’s not long before people start to avoid Peeta, Haymitch and me, as if they are worried to even be seen with us.

I hear no more whispers of rebellion so at least in that regard Snow can be content. People don’t seem to have much strength or gusto to rebel when they’re fighting to stay warm and to keep hunger at bay. The merchants are better off than the rest but even they are feeling the effects of the changes. The market economy in District 12 is not at its finest, it’s mostly just the peacekeepers who can afford to spend money in the shops while the rest try to make do through the Hob, which remains open albeit on a smaller scale.

Every Sunday I go to the Seam and have a mid-day meal with Gale and his family, usually with me providing the ingredients to the food Hazelle cooks. Peeta sends freshly baked bread with me every time which is always appreciated. I don’t ask Rory much about how things are going at the bakery. I know my in-laws are taking good care of him, save for Mrs. Mellark but she won’t treat him too badly either. Some weeks Prim comes with me to these meals and once my mother comes along as well. I never bring Peeta and he never asks to come. He has a lot of respect for Gale and a lot of consideration for him. Gale on his end doesn’t mention Peeta’s name if he can avoid it and I know he still thinks nothing of the marriage. I find it best not to mention the topic at all.

At long last winter gives way to spring and the snows begin to melt. I don’t know how many people in District 12 failed to survive the winter but at least now people won’t have to worry about keeping warm. As the sun begins to shine more often and the leaves return to the trees and the flowers begin to bloom the mood starts to perk up in the district. The slightly more joyous mood won’t last for long, though, as spring will soon give way to summer and it will once again be time for the Hunger Games. More eligible children have taken out tesserae this winter than ever before but I figure at least when nearly everyone gets an extra slip the odds even out a bit. The real problem is that the tesserae are now so meagre that they are no longer enough to keep you from the brink of starvation.

 

 

A few weeks before Reaping Day Peeta and I sit together on one of the bay windows, looking out at the trees that are blossoming out in our yard. We have apple trees, two of them, and one cherry tree. Sadly they don’t produce much fruit and the apples are almost too sour to eat but Peeta bakes a few pies on them in the fall. The trees are mostly decorative, especially now when they are in full bloom, which is typical of a house designed and prepared by the Capitol. Include fruit trees for their beauty but never mind the actual fruit they bear. Peeta sat down to draw them, which is why we’re on the bay window, and I sat down with him, leaning back against his chest, which of course meant I ended up being in the way. The pad now sits next to us on the sill and Peeta has his arms loosely wrapped around my waist. It’s a calm and peaceful day and I’m enjoying the tranquillity. We have hectic weeks ahead of us but for once I’m looking forward to leaving District 12. At least in the Capitol I won’t have to see starving faces whenever I’m out on a crowded street.

There is a knock on the door followed by somebody entering. Haymitch comes walking in and stops to look at us for a second before running a hand through his unwashed hair. He’s sober but in need of a shower, a shave and a change in clothes. Thankfully he stops a few feet away from us so we don’t have to smell the worst of him.

“Peeta” he says. “If you’re not too busy, can I have a word?”

“What’s up?” I ask.

“I’ll be over at my place” says Haymitch and makes for the door without answering my question.

“Wait a minute” I say and he stops. I don’t want Peeta go get up and leave; we’re sitting so comfortably together. “Take a seat. You can talk here, can’t you?”

He looks at me for a second before answering.

“I want to speak privately with the boy.”

“What, you two have secrets now?”

“I’ll be over in a moment” says Peeta.

“Good” nods Haymitch and leaves.

I turn a bit and look at Peeta.

“What is going on?”

“Nothing is going on.”

“Then why does Haymitch want to speak with you in private in his own house?”

“Guy talk” smiles Peeta.

“Guy talk?” I question.

“Yeah” says Peeta, nudging me to move so he can get up. “He has a huge crush on Effie and he wants my advice on how to let he know when Reaping Day comes around.”

I scoff at the notion but obediently move to the side so that he can get up.

“Seriously, Peeta.”

“Okay, Effie would not be likely... He has a crush on Portia?”

“Fine, don’t tell me” I say. “Just be home in time for dinner.”

“God you sound like such a wife sometimes...”

He flashes me a grin but something in his demeanour doesn’t seem so relaxed. He walks out through the back door and I follow him with my eyes as he crosses the lawn and goes over to Haymitch’s house. I don’t care if Haymitch wants to spend time with Peeta without me but it bothers me that I’m now left alone on a beautiful day which I know would be ten times more beautiful out in the woods. Being kept away from the forest makes me restless and I long to feel the scent of the trees and hear the sounds of the forest. When we’re in the Capitol I intend on going for long walks in the large park near the training centre. It’s not ideal and there are too many people around but at least it means getting to be in the habitat where I’m most comfortable.

When Peeta doesn’t come back home within thirty minutes I head over to my old house where Prim is giving a highly displeased Buttercup a much needed bath. I take a seat on the toilet, pulling my legs up, marvelling at how Buttercup doesn’t hiss at Prim even though he’s clearly unhappy.

“He knows it’s for his own good” claims Prim. “He’s going to be beautiful when we’re done. He’ll smell good, too.”

“He’ll smell like wet cat” I object.

“We’ll dry him off.”

I watch my little sister as she massages shampoo into Buttercup’s coat. Prim is sixteen now, the age I was when I went into the arena. It’s odd seeing her this way, a young woman in the making. Her childish figure is gone and while she mostly wears baggy clothes you can still tell that her body has developed. I don’t like thinking of my baby sister as a young woman. I would like her to stay little Prim forever. Young and innocent and without the responsibilities of adulthood. It’s not just her body that’s developed. I have a hard time thinking of her as anything other than my fragile kid sister who needs me to take care of her and protect her but that’s not quite true anymore. She’s not as independent or strong as I was at her age but she has come a long way from the girl she was when we lived in the Seam. In two more years she will be done with school and might even have a boyfriend. It’s surreal to think about it. I hope she finds a boy, somebody good and kind and strong to take care of her and to have fun with her and to understand her. Somebody to be her best friend and her lover. I just don’t hope it will happen anytime soon. When she’s in her twenties, maybe.

As if reading my mind Prim begins to talk.

“Rory and I talked about having a little picnic on Reaping Day.”

“Rory?” I echo. “Rory Hawthorne? And you? Picnic on Reaping Day?”

She hears the tone in my voice and laughs.

“It’s not like _that_ , Katniss” she assures me. “There’s a group of kids at school who are talking about it.”

“Why on earth would you want to have a picnic on Reaping Day?” I ask, trying to find some composure.

“I don’t know, I... I think it could be good for me, and for many of the others. To do something together after it’s over, talk about what happened, you know?”

“You can talk to me. Or Mom.”

“Yeah but it’s not the same. You and Mom aren’t on any of the slips.”

I nod my head a little. I can understand what she means. Sometimes it helps to be around people who have just felt what you felt and experienced what you experienced. But if it’s everyone in their school why did she specify going with Rory? The thought of my sister with Gale’s brother seems very wrong to me, though I can’t justify the thought. She’s free to like whomever she chooses and Rory is a nice kid. It would have been weird if Gale and I had been together but we’re not. It shouldn’t be weird as things are now. But it is.

Prim doesn’t say anything else on the subject. She finishes with Buttercup’s bath, wraps a towel around him and carries him like a baby to the living room downstairs, taking a seat in front of the fireplace. She gives him a good rub which he endures only because it’s Prim and when she unwraps him from the towel he begins to frantically lick himself.

“Poor kitty” I remark, sitting down in an armchair.

“He’s happy to have a bath” says Prim. “At least once it’s over and done with.”

My mother walks in carrying a tray with hot tea and Peeta’s cheese buns. She sets it down on the table in front of me and urges Prim to come and join us. Prim leans down to kiss Buttercup on his scrawny head and then comes over and sits next to me.

We eat mostly in silence. I’m not really very hungry and truth be told I’m getting a little tired of the cheese buns. Peeta knows that I love them so he bakes them a lot but I’ve come to realize that you can have too much of a good thing. I feel bad that I’m so ungrateful when I know what starvation is and when I see others around me living with it on a daily basis. Having enough cheese buns to grow tired of them is a luxury I could have never fathomed when I was Prim’s age. Still, sometimes I find I long back to the way things used to be. I don’t miss the constant struggle to have food on the table but at least back then I had some form of purpose in my life. Ever since winning the Games my day-to-day life has been a little boring and it’s not easy finding something worthwhile to do. Especially not now when I can’t hunt and bring game to those who starve.

My thoughts often go to my child and I wonder what things had been like if I had made a different choice. We would have been living every day with an axe over our heads, waiting for the day when the child is the right age for the reaping. Nine more years. In nine years time I will be unspeakably glad that I gave the baby up and I will know in my heart I made the right choice but this year and the following eight it could have been different. What would it have been like having a small child in our house? My days would have meaning and never a dull moment. Peeta would have made an amazing father, loving and kind and nurturing. I think I would have been able to be a decent mother, having already had to practice on Prim. We could have taught our child to read and write, to sing and dance, to bake and draw, to play and hunt. I oftentimes wish it could have been like that.

Just as often, though, I dismiss the idea. Could we really have been good parents knowing that our child would hardly make it past the age of eighteen? That the arena waited for our son or daughter? I don’t think it would have made much difference to Peeta, he only knows how to love and devote himself completely. I, on the other hand, have a much stronger sense of self-protection. I don’t want to let anybody into my heart if I can avoid it because when you love someone, or even just care a lot about them, it will devastate you to lose them. Would I have been a good mother or would I have distanced myself emotionally? Much like my own mother, albeit in a different way, or even a bit like Peeta’s mother. Maybe I would have only focused on training the child for the arena, making sure he or she knew how to survive in the wild and how to kill. What sort of childhood would that have been? Even Peeta’s love and care could not have softened that.

I stay with my mother and sister until it’s time to go home and start making dinner. I’m surprised to find the house empty as I had expected Peeta to be in the kitchen already. Whatever he’s talking to Haymitch about must be important, which makes me question why I wasn’t involved in the discussion. I glance at the clock on the kitchen wall and note that the sun sets in an hour. I begin to prepare dinner, wondering if I’ll have to call Haymitch and tell him to send Peeta home, but Peeta walks through the door five minutes before our usual dinner time. I’ve never cared much about eating on specific hours but Peeta has been raised on meals at specific times so it’s become part of our routine. He walks into the kitchen and goes straight for the cupboards to set the table and it bothers me that he doesn’t say anything about what it was that took him so long.

“How’s Haymitch?” I ask when it’s clear he’s not going to say anything on his own accord.

“Nervous. He’s almost out of liquor and there’s been talk about rationing it again.”

“Good. Maybe his liver will live to see another Hunger Games.” I wait for him to say more but he’s annoyingly silent on the subject. “What was so important that you had to come over there and talk for hours?”

“Just... You know... Haymitch being Haymitch.”

“And what does _that_ mean?”

“He has his own demons to fight, Katniss” says Peeta, placing knives and forks by our plates. “He doesn’t have anybody to talk to but us. Not here in District 12.”

“He’s _never_ talked to me about his demons.”

“He talks to me” shrugs Peeta. “Not that he tells me details. I think he just wants somebody to be around, you know? He was alone in this for twenty years between his mentor dying and you and me winning.”

He changes the subject but I’m not entirely satisfied with his answers about Haymitch. Could that really be all that went on over there? Haymitch seemed unsettled when he came over but not like he was in deep distress. What’s more, he was sober. There’s something more to the story and Peeta seems to have something on his mind for the rest of the evening. I have no luck finding out what, as he only smiles at me and tells me it’s nothing, just a bit of concern for our mentor.

We go to bed early. We make love but Peeta shifts between being preoccupied with something and being really intense in his ministrations. It throws me off and in the end I don’t think either one of us enjoy it much. When we’re finished and I have curled up into his embrace I hear him sigh heavily as if bothered by something. It makes it difficult to relax and go to sleep.

 

 

Reaping Day comes, as always, but this year there’s something different about it. The harsh regulations set upon us in the past year has left a mark and the faces in the crowd seem even more weary and downtrodden than they usually do. Even some of the peacekeepers seem to be out of spirits, which I would have never expected to see. The prep teams who arrive in the morning to make sure Peeta and I are presentable are as chatty and clueless as always but for once Peeta doesn’t respond to anything they say to him. He seems preoccupied but I don’t have the opportunity to ask him what is going on since we’re never left alone together. When we’re both dressed and heading to the Justice Building he barely looks at me, staring out the window of the car instead, leaving me with nobody to talk to since Haymitch appears to have passed out on the other side of me.

He stirs when we reach our destination but mumbles and staggers as we make our way inside the Justice Building. I reach for Peeta’s hand and he takes it but he still seems distant. When we are called up on stage his hand lets go of mine and instead rests on my waist in a strange, protective gesture. He gives me a nervous, slightly concerned look as we take our seats but I don’t understand what, if anything, he is trying to tell me. Haymitch plops down on the other side of Peeta, drunk but oddly not reeking so much of alcohol as I would expect.

To my surprise the woman who comes up to draw the names is not Effie. It’s somebody new, a woman in her late twenties or so with skin that has been dyed a pale purple and a deep purple hairdo that is probably a wig. She looks terrible and terrifying and I feel the deepest of sympathies for all the children standing down there in the square. Effie Trinket had been our reaper for over ten years and there was a sense of comfort in seeing her familiar face, despised as it may be among the crowds. I wonder what happened to her. Probably she got that promotion she has been clamouring for since as far back as I’ve known her.

The new woman’s name is Servilia Flame, which she announces to the crowds in her silly Capitol accent as if it is the grandest thing we will ever hear. She’s quite the professional considering that this is her first year and even though District 12 is the runt of the districts the Hunger Games is still by far the biggest event of the year.

“She looks sickly” I whisper to Peeta who nods.

“Well, the time has come for the best part of all!” chirps Servilia. “I can’t tell you how exciting it is to be a part of this but I know you all are waiting with bated breaths, just like me!”

The more she talks the more I miss Effie. The unlucky pair whose names are drawn this year are going to be in the hands of a complete novice with not the slightest shred of common sense as far as the eye can see. No doubt she will be so consumed with what a great honour it is for _her_ to have gotten a job on the Hunger Games that she doesn’t care or even notice that she’s under the same roof as two frightened children who will soon be forced to fight each other to the death. Effie was rather clueless too at times but over the years I did come to see that she has a heart and that she is probably more a product of her upbringing than a bad person. The same might be true of Servilia but it will likely take a few years before she begins to realize that the Hunger Games are not all glitz and glamour and good times abound.

She struts over to the ball containing the girls’ names, somehow managing to not look completely foolish in her too tight skirt and her high heels. She reaches inside the bowl with an absolutely giddy expression on her face and makes a big show out of selecting a slip. Peeta reaches for my hand and I gladly take it. I will never get used to this part.

“Salvia Smith!” announces Servilia.

I look out at the crowds where the unlucky girl slowly begins to move away from her friends and walk towards the stage. She looks like she’s seventeen or eighteen with dark hair that falls down her back all the way to her waist. Her face and the arms that stick out from her short-sleeved dress show that she hasn’t had a lot to eat this winter. She looks mortified but composed, as if she’s in shock. Servilia gives her a big hug when she comes up on stage and chatters with her as if she has just been given the greatest of honours.

Then it’s time for the boys. The name Servilia draws is Bryce Tallis, also looking to be seventeen or eighteen, also from the Seam and having starved this winter. My guess is that both Bryce and Salvia come from large families and are the oldest children, or at least the oldest who can take out tesserae. Being forced to do so this winter, possibly for every member of their family, gave them several slips in the reaping balls. The odds were never in their favour.

Once Servilia is done chatting with Bryce we get up from our seats and briefly shake hands with the tributes, mumbling congratulations that we don’t mean but that we don’t dare not to express in front of the cameras. Peeta then puts his arm around my waist again and leads me back to our seats. Haymitch stumbles enough that I wonder if he’s going to do a repeat of his performance during our reaping but he stays on stage and manages to throw himself down on his chair and not next to it.

We sit there in silence while Mayor Undersee reads the treaty of the treason. It feels particularly unsettling to listen to this year with everything that’s been going on. Once Servilia has cheerfully put an end to what she refers to as ”the festivities” Peeta, Haymitch and I make our way inside the Justice Building and head for the train. We have about an hour to settle in before the tributes arrive with Servilia. When we get on board the train Peeta and I head for our compartment but once the door closes behind us Peeta surprises me by no longer looking troubled. Instead he walks briskly over to the window, looks outside and then grabs me by the hand.

“Let’s go. We should talk to Haymitch before the tributes and Lady Purple arrive.”

I nod, thinking that it’s probably for the best that we try and straighten Haymitch out a bit before the tributes are here. We are growing more accustomed to our roles as mentors but we still need Haymitch and we know from experience how disheartening it is to find your lifeline in the Games being drunk enough to pass out when you first meet him for real. I don’t look forward to helping Peeta get Haymitch under a cold shower but for my tributes it’s the least I can do.

To my great surprise Haymitch seems completely lucid when we arrive in his compartment. He’s pacing back and forth in the room without the slightest trace of staggering and when he turns and looks at us he looks like he’s completely sober. To my even greater surprise Peeta doesn’t seem shocked by this at the least. He walks over to Haymitch and directly asks him if he knows what happened to Effie Trinket.

“Promotion, I hope” answers Haymitch without the faintest slur.

“Will it be a problem?” asks Peeta.

“No. It might even be to our advantage.”

“Would either of you mind filling me in on what is going on?” I ask.

Haymitch looks over at me as if he didn’t notice my presence until now.

“Nothing” he says but he nods towards the window and I understand what he’s trying to say. Nothing we can talk about here but if we go for a walk when the train stops to refuel we can get into more detail. “Just that we’ll miss Effie, that’s all.”

“Dear old Effie” adds Peeta. “Maybe she got herself promoted to a really good district.”

“I hear she was always beckoning for District 4” adds Haymitch. “Maybe she just wanted to get closer to Finnick Odair.”

“I pity the man” I say.

I don’t really understand what’s going on but I take a seat on the couch while Peeta and Haymitch talk strategy. It seems Haymitch wants us to take on more responsibility this year and he’s been coaching Peeta these past few weeks. When I indignantly ask why he didn’t coach me I get a dry reply that it’s impossible to teach me things and the only sane one in our household is my husband. The comment seems uncalled for but I leave it be. To tell the truth I’m glad if Peeta takes on more of the responsibility. He’s better suited for wooing sponsors and making up strategies anyway. My strength is in my skills as a fighter and survivor.

“When the tributes arrive just tell them I’m too drunk to show up for dinner” says Haymitch. “As far as they, and Servilia, are concerned I will be too drunk most of the time.”

“Can’t you just say you’re taking a step back?” I ask.

Haymitch ignores me and keeps handing out instructions. We are to try and mentor all on our own this year, only turning to him if absolutely necessary. He will only be in the Capitol as a safety net for us. I suppose this means he plans on retiring next year, to whatever extent the Capitol will allow.

“We can handle it” nods Peeta. “We’ll be fine. We’ve watched you for a few years now. We’ve been in the Games ourselves. We can do this.”

“I’m just glad this means we won’t have to be out on the streets selling our big romance” I say. “It’s really getting tiresome to have all those people we don’t know fawn over us and our beautiful love story.”

“What makes you think you won’t be doing that this year?” asks Haymitch.

“We won’t have the time.”

“You make the time.”

“Haymitch!” I protest.

He studies me for a second and then nods.

“Fine, maybe we limit your exposure and just send Peeta out. For a few days, at least.”

“I still don’t see what the point is of us being out there.”

“It earns the kids _sponsors_ ” explains Haymitch as if I’m a total idiot.

He keeps doling out instructions and Peeta listens carefully but I find the whole thing odd. First of all it seems strange that he would need to bestow all this advice on us now and that Peeta would listen so eagerly if they have been talking about this for weeks already. Second, if he thinks we’re ready to do this on our own why would he need to instruct us so carefully? Haymitch’s approach has always been to throw us in the deep end and force us to swim.

When we see the tributes’ car approaching Peeta and I go back to our own rooms where I take a long, hot shower. We join Salvia and Bryce for dinner, enduring Servilia’s inane chatter and trying to ignore her comments on the table manners of our tributes. She seems almost worse than Effie in that regard.

After dinner we all go and sit down in front of the TV to watch the recap of the reapings. I really wish to stuff something down Servilia’s throat to shut her up as she won’t stop talking about how she’s at least as good, if not better, as the other presenters and that it is remarkable since this is her very first year. I don’t want to hear her self-congratulating babble. I want to hear what Claudius and Caesar have to say about the other tributes. I’m surprised to notice that Effie doesn’t appear at any other district. Maybe she decided to quit the Hunger Games or she got a different job within the show itself.

After the recap is over Servilia ushers Bryce and Salvia to bed. Peeta and I share a look and stay behind on the couch. Once the others are gone I get up and remove the tape from the recorder. Every broadcast is recorded for us and now we can watch it without Servilia’s voice in our ears. I put the tape in the player and rewind it, returning to my seat on the couch. We have only watched for five minutes when Haymitch shows up.

“Good” he nods.

He sits down beside us and watches the reapings with more investment than I have ever seen from him. It doesn’t seem to be the actual reapings that are of interest to him. Instead he whispers little comments about the state of the various districts, his voice so low I can barely hear him. I didn’t get a chance to notice earlier when Servilia was talking all the time but now that we are watching it in peace and quiet I can see that he’s right about the things he says. You can tell that there are differences now compared to previous years. Not with the low number districts, the ones that have always been more loyal to the Capitol, but with the poorer districts. The people look more ragged, hungrier. The surroundings are not as pristine as they usually appear on Reaping Day. There are more peacekeepers. Something is going on out there. A rebellion? A rebellion thwarted?

“Keep your eyes open” mumbles Haymitch as the District 11 reaping draws to a close, giving us a pointed look.

Then it’s time for District 12 and as I watch it I notice more about Peeta’s odd behaviour during the reaping. He keeps giving me worried looks and seems more bothered than usual. I turn to look at him but at the moment he seems calm and focused. Maybe I’m just imagining things. If there was something important going on he would fill me in about it.

When the recap comes to a close we get up and head for bed. It’s been a long day and tomorrow won’t be any shorter. Peeta and I kiss goodnight and align our bodies to each other, soon rocked to sleep by the movements of the train. Tomorrow the show begins for real and we have to start to prepare another pair of teenagers for the slaughter.

I wake up once in the night, having dreamt that Peeta and I are back in the arena and that we have to face off against other victors. Our child is with us, an infant in a basket, and we have to protect the baby as well as protect one another. I manage to flee with the baby but Peeta falls behind and the last thing I hear in my dream before waking up is Peeta’s screams as the others find him and have their way with him, followed by the sound of a cannon.

 

 

The following days are strange. Haymitch spends most of his time drinking with some of the other victors, or at least pretending to. I don’t ask what they’re actually up to and he doesn’t offer to tell us. Salvia and Bryce do their best in training and since she is eighteen and he seventeen I begin to feel a bit of hope that one of them might make it far, or even win. They both seem driven, both make sure to eat a lot and train a lot and they both do what Peeta and I tell them to do. I spend more time training them while Peeta spends at least a few hours every day out among the Capitol citizens, charming them as best he can, or so I presume. Three times I come with him but he seems a bit uneasy having me out there with him for whatever reason. Servilia makes a half-hearted attempt at getting people interested in our tributes but she’s mostly interested in her own glamorous position and seems to feel that marketing Bryce and Salvia is beneath her.

Our tributes get good scores, she an eight and he a nine, and Peeta does a good job preparing them for their interviews. I’m surprised when Salvia tells Caesar that she’s tough and determined and that because of the harsh regulations implemented in District 12 she’s had to become even more so in the past year to help provide for her six younger siblings. Caesar Flickerman looks shocked as well but I can see a few faces in the crowds that are brimming over with compassion for the poor girl’s plight. Bryce follows her and Caesar is careful to talk about safer topics but he does good also. While they don’t try to play the star-crossed lovers card the way Peeta did for us they make a show of unity and Bryce says Salvia is like a sister to him. It’s a lie, or at least a big exaggeration since I know they had never spoken before they both got reaped, but it does what Peeta must have intended it to do. It shows them as a duo, shows that friend is being pitted against friend. It shows that there is still unity in District 12 in spite of the strict regulations.

After the tributes have been taken away in the hovercraft we’ve been moved to Game Headquarters Haymitch, Peeta and I go down to the big common room to watch the opening of the Games. All the mentors are there, sitting together in smaller groups, eyes fixated on the big screens. I have instructed our tributes to run and find shelter at once and Haymitch’s one piece of advice to them was to “dig like rabbits” which makes no sense at all to me and makes me worried he’s having some sort of psychotic episode. The arena is small this year compared to most previous Games and half of it is made up of rock formations that provide shelter as well as makeshift weapons and dramatic settings for battle. The other half is made up of a large meadow with patches of tall grass, a few trees and a lot of thickets. The weapons available at the cornucopia are crossbows, javelins and slingshots. It seems they want more action from a distance this year, which I find odd since it seems that would make for a less entertaining show.

Salvia and Bryce both run for shelter but it’s hard to find it and I realize one of the benefits with the weapons available. Anyone who tries to find shelter will be clearly visible for a while before reaching the trees or thickets or rocks. In other words they will be open targets for anyone with, say, a javelin, crossbow or slingshot. Bryce makes it to the trees unseen but Salvia very nearly gets speared by a javelin, surviving it by tripping and falling the second before it would have hit her. She gets up and runs, ignoring the weapon now available to her and heads for the rocks. Seven other tributes are not as lucky as she is and the 78th annual Hunger Games have officially begun.

The Games progress slowly. Peeta spends a lot of time out trying to get sponsors while I watch our tributes on the screens and try to foresee what they might need from us and how we can best help them. They unfortunately abandon their appearance of friendship almost right away, or maybe they just can’t find each other in the arena. This makes it harder at first for Peeta to gain sponsors for them but things turn around a bit when Bryce proves to be smug and clever and lures one of the careers into a trap on the third day, killing the other tribute with a knife that the girl from Four had been sent by sponsors. Bryce got his hands on it by sneaking up and simply taking it from her while she and the other careers slept, a move which in itself made him more popular. Salvia on her end stays mostly out of sight but moves around a whole lot and explores almost every part of the rocky half of the arena. I don’t know what she’s looking for and I’m not sure she does either but after a few days she knows her surroundings well and can hide from the other tributes and bide her time.

On the fifth day Haymitch joins us for dinner. The boy from Nine has just been killed by the careers and now seven tributes remain. It’s going better than we had dared to hope and I’m beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, we could get one of our tributes home. Servilia doesn’t seem pleased to see Haymitch and he’s not very pleased to see her either. Peeta and I have learned to ignore her but Haymitch appears to be provoked by her very existence and hurls a number of insults her way which soon makes her bottom lip quiver and eventually makes her throw her fork and knife down on the plate and rush to her room. The stylists aren’t dining with us tonight so it’s just us three mentors left.

“So” says Haymitch, biting off a piece of bread and talking with his mouth full. “Tomorrow morning they will be doing the interviews. They’ll want to speak with the mentors. Boy, you know what to say. Sweetheart, you stay the hell away from that interview.”

“Why only Peeta?” I have to ask.

“Plutarch Heavensbee wants to do something different this year” says Haymitch. “He’s taking the mentors out to the park and doing the interviews live. I never worry what comes out of Peeta’s mouth but with you there’s no telling how uninspiring it will be.”

I open my mouth to protest since I for once do want to be interviewed and try to help our tributes but Peeta puts his hand on mine in an effort to calm me.

“Haymitch is right” he says. “Maybe not in his reasons why but he’s right that only one of us should go.”

“Why?” I demand.

“We still have both our tributes in the game and we want to make sure we’re on top of things. So he’s right, you should stay here and keep an eye on what’s going on in the arena. It’s a waste of resources for us both to go.”

“Okay” I nod, realizing he has a point. I push the remaining food on my plate around with a fork and contemplate letting Peeta finish it for me. I never have much of an appetite during the Games, my mind too preoccupied with my starving tributes. “Hey, Haymitch?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think they stand a chance at winning?”

There’s a long pause before he answers.

“I think we could get one of them home.”

I can’t help but smile, hoping that he’s right. Haymitch offers to stay up and watch the Games until the tributes go to sleep. It’s the first time he’s offered to do this since these Games began and Peeta and I are both glad to accept the offer. We go back to our room, curl up together on the bed and discuss what we think will happen next. Earlier in the day Peeta rounded up enough sponsor money to send Bryce some soup but they will need more than that to make it through the next couple of days. With only five other tributes remaining things are going to get more intense and the kids in the arena more desperate.

 

 

We wake up in the morning to find out that Bryce is dead. The girl from Three spotted him gathering berries from the thickets and shot him with a crossbow. I’m shocked at the development and come close to breaking down in tears. He’s the fifth tribute I’ve lost and in the end no more special than the other four but I had really begun to hope that we could get him or Salvia out. Maybe even that we could get them both out in a repeat performance of our own Games. Instead Bryce Tallis becomes the eighteenth tribute to die in the 78th Hunger Games, just another name among far too many.

We still have Salvia to try and help so after breakfast Peeta leaves to do the interview. He looks nervous before he leaves and I give him a kiss on the cheek and reassure him that it will be fine. Haymitch gives him a look and a stern nod. Once Peeta has left he tells me to follow him downstairs to the common room.

“I’d rather watch here” I say.

“Yes I know you hate other people but for right now you’re going to have to come with me” he says in a tone that will not take no for an answer.

So I follow him downstairs and sit down with the other mentors who have gathered. Peeta, Finnick, Beetee, Woof from District 8 and Gloss from District 1 have all gone to shoot the interviews. Gloss has both his tributes still alive and will be speaking on behalf of them both. Aside from the five of them there are about five or six mentors not present in the common room. I sit down on a couch next to the nervous wreck that is Annie Cresta from District 4, regretting my choice of a seating place when she begins to mumble to herself and doesn’t seem to want to stop. Other than her nobody really says much as we watch the Games unfold on screen. It’s a fairly calm morning. The tributes from One and the boy from Four sit together making plans for how they will eliminate their three remaining competitors but make no mention of what they will do once they are the only three left. If I were Annie Cresta I would be yelling at the screen for my tribute to part ways with the pair from One but she barely seems aware of what is going on. Meanwhile we don’t get to see much of Salvia and Haymitch goes over to one of the smaller screens that is tuned to her. The common room has one small screen per tribute so the mentors can keep track of their own people and I think that the Capitol citizens can pay extra for access to their favourite tribute or tributes. Aside from that people only see what Plutarch Heavensbee and his team want them to see.

“Where is she?” I ask Haymitch when he returns. “Asleep? Hidden?”

“Digging like a rabbit” smirks Haymitch.

He takes a seat next to me and we watch the events that unfold on screen until it’s one o’clock and time for the live interviews. Caesar Flickerman is standing on a podium in the big park on the west side of the city. Peeta and the other mentors are there with him. Gloss gets to go first since he is from District 1 and I barely pay attention as he boasts about his superior tributes and how it will all come down to a battle between the two of them. I find it sickening that he seems to be looking forward to his two tributes fighting one on one but I’ve never understood the people from the career districts anyway. Beetee is next and he gives a rather cryptic interview about how things are going to take a turn for the unexpected. I assume he’s trying to up the interest, as if it was needed, and make his tribute seem like she has a few surprises in store. Finnick follows and surprises me by saying that he thinks it might be just as well if his tribute doesn’t win.

“What the hell?” I say, looking at Haymitch but he seems calm and not the least bit surprised.

“Ophelio is a lovely guy” continues Finnick. “If he were to win... I don’t think his life would be very easy.”

I scoff at the TV, wondering if I could dislike Finnick Odair more than I already do. Maybe his tribute’s life would be difficult if he won but at least he would be alive. Before I can get too upset Caesar moves on to Woof, who is old and confused and gives a very strange interview that makes little to no sense.

“Why was he sent?” I ask Haymitch. “That’s not going to win any sponsors for their tribute.”

“Be thankful” answers Haymitch. “Also be quiet. Peeta is coming up.”

Peeta gives Caesar one of his disarming smiles when they interview begins but soon the smile fades as he talks about Salvia and what a nice girl she is. He takes a pause and then looks away, seemingly deeply troubled. Caesar asks him what is the matter and I sit there wondering the same thing as Peeta looks at Caesar and continues talking with a heavy heart.

“It’s just... You know, it’s not easy watching somebody else fighting in the arena. This year is... even more difficult.”

“Why is that, Peeta?” asks Caesar, full of concern and compassion. He is not ready for the bomb that is about to drop and neither am I.

“It’s no secret that the children of victors have the odds much less in their favour than other kids” says Peeta frankly. “Something that I’ve tried not to think about but it’s not possible to ignore it anymore.” He looks straight into the camera. “Thirteen years from now Katniss and I might find out just what that feels like.”

Silence falls and I’m sure you could hear a penny drop. I don’t even understand what he is saying at first and Caesar seems a little uncertain too.

“Peeta are you saying...?”

“Yes. We’re having a baby and I honestly wish we weren’t because I know without a doubt that our child will be reaped. They’ll rig the reaping to ensure it. How could they possibly resist?”

I stare at the screen, shocked by what Peeta is saying and even more shocked that they’re allowing it to continue. Why isn’t Plutarch cutting away, claiming a disturbance in the transmission, something? Peeta has just suggested on live broadcast that the reapings are rigged to put the children of previous victors in the arena. Chaos seems to break out down in the park and finally the screen goes black before cutting back to the arena.

“Good for him” I hear Johanna Mason say. “I didn’t think his little wifey knew what she was expected to do in the bedroom but she must have learned.”

I decide to ignore her and turn to Haymitch, figuring he knows something about what’s going on. He’s already up on his feet and a few feet away, discussing something in a low voice with some of the other mentors. Then he turns and looks at those of us still sitting on the couches.

“Plutarch is going to put us in lockdown any minute now. You know what that means.”

I don’t have the first idea what that means but I get up on my feet and walk over to my former mentor.

“Haymitch what the hell is all this about?”

“Come” he says. “They’ll want us back in our own rooms. This little show we put on in the park won’t be appreciated.”

He walks towards the elevators and I follow, some of the other mentors coming along with us. I want to ask more questions but I contain myself until we’re back up in our own rooms. The second we step off the elevators Servilia Flame comes hurrying up as fast as her tight skirt and high heels will let her. Her wig is in disarray and her eyes are nearly bulging out of her head. She looks even more terrifying than she normally does.

“Good grief, what is all this?” she shrieks. She turns to me and pokes a finger at my chest. “What is your husband _thinking_? I could care less that your kid might end up a tribute. It’s the way of the Games! It’s great television and it’s the way it’s always been! You should be _proud_ that you get to be parents of a tribute.” She turns her frustration at Haymitch. “Now thanks to this sickening display we’re all in trouble. Big, _big_ trouble. Oh I must hurry at once and make sure Plutarch knows that Peeta Mellark does _not_ speak for the entire District 12 delegation!”

“I believe that he does” says Haymitch calmly. “If you want to go to Plutarch and tell him you are appalled by parents who want their children to live then you go right ahead. Katniss and I will be at the bar.”

Servilia is too upset to react to the implication of a pregnant woman drinking, or maybe she really cares that little about my unborn child, and hurries to get on the elevator. As soon as she is gone I turn to Haymitch, demanding answers.

“What the hell did Peeta do?” I ask. “What did you _make_ him do? There is no way he did that all on his own. Or is it just a coincidence that he claims we’re pregnant in the same interview where Finnick Odair says tributes are better off dying and Beetee acts strange?”

“Telling the world that you’re knocked up is not a bad idea at all” answers Haymitch, leading the way to the bar. “Peeta gets full credit for that idea. In case you haven’t noticed Snow is growing impatient with your inability to produce a sacrificial lamb for all of Panem to adore. The boy bought you time. Much needed time.”

“Until nine months pass and no baby is born” I point out. “And what was all that about the pain of knowing your child might get reaped?”

“Do you disagree with what he said?”

“No” I say, beginning to wonder why he speaks so openly about this when he knows we might be bugged. “But why now? Why like this? It’s dangerous!”

“Exactly” says Haymitch, pouring himself a glass of some thick brown liquid from a glass pitcher. “It’s dangerous. Because it is effective.”

“Haymitch” I say. “Don’t jerk me around. What exactly is going on?”

He looks at me and raises his glass in a salute.

“All hell is about to break loose.”

 

 

Servilia Flame does not return. Instead we get armed peacekeepers standing by the elevator. I can hear commotion from outside but I don’t know exactly what it pertains to, nor do I go out on the balcony to get a closer look. All I know for sure at this stage is that Peeta, Finnick and possibly Beetee have tried to ignite another flame. The message they sent was not shocking to anyone in the districts, at least not what Peeta had to say, but I have a feeling that seeing victors of the Hunger Games openly criticizing President Snow and the Games themselves can create a ripple effect. I don’t understand much of what has been brewing in the districts nor do I have the slightest idea what the overall plan is here but somebody wants the spark to be lit and it may have succeeded today.

When more than an hour has passed since the interviews and Peeta is not yet back I go back out to the bar to talk to Haymitch. He’s still on his first drink, which I can tell by his level of sobriety, and he seems fairly calm. It helps me from getting too worked up but I feel like that could change at any minute. Once I know what I’ve truly ended up in the middle of I might be a lot more alarmed.

“Haymitch” I say. “Why is Peeta not back yet? Or Finnick, or Woof?”

“They’re getting here on foot.”

“Why?”

He gives me an apologetic look.

“To ignite the flame, sweetheart. The boy has a silver tongue, we need him to use it. Finnick is a lot more than a golden boy who loves every beautiful woman he sees, we need him to reveal that. I would have liked to have others out there too, Johanna, Seeder, Sonya, Doores, Slim... As it stands, it’s up to Finnick and the boy to spread enough dark truths about the fate of the victors to cause a stir out there on the streets.”

“For what purpose?”

“Diversion.”

Diversion from what? I don’t ask the question. Instead I walk over to the windows and try to get a glimpse of what’s going on out there but we can’t see much from where we are. I try going out on the balcony but the doors have been locked. Peeta is out there on the streets. What happens when he comes back to the game headquarters?

“I don’t know” admits Haymitch when I ask. “He knew that things might get tough out there.”

“You still sent him out there to tell a lie and put himself at risk” I say, trying not to get mad at Haymitch because it won’t do any good. “What if they didn’t get out into the crowds? What if the peacekeepers got them first? What if they get them on the way back here? They could already be here, facing punishment for what they said.”

“Yeah” nods Haymitch, looking down in his drink.

I swallow hard. Peeta, out there on the streets in the middle of what seems to be building chaos. Peeta possibly imprisoned. Punished. For what point and purpose? I grab the drink from Haymitch and down it in three gulps, coughing when I feel the strong liquid pass down my throat. I slam the glass down on the bar and glare at my former mentor.

“You can’t just do this, Haymitch. You can’t just send him out there.” My voice rises as I grow more alarmed. “What if something happens?”

“It’s something we’ve discussed for a few weeks” reveals Haymitch. “Peeta doesn’t know everything, just about today and the necessity of igniting the spark, but he agreed to do his part. I instructed him not to tell you. Not yet.”

“Why?” I ask sharply.

“He has a poker face. You don’t.”

“You should have sent me out there, not him. I can take better care of myself than he can.”

Haymitch scoffs at me.

“He’s a Hunger Games victor. He can handle himself.”

“The Capitol already hates _me_ but they haven’t held Peeta responsible for my actions yet. If you were going to throw one of us to the wild dogs it should have been me. You just put a big damn _bull’s-eye_ on his back.”

“He can _handle_ it” insists Haymitch. “Besides, we need you for other things.”

“Oh do you, now?” I bark.

He leans in closer and lowers his voice. Clearly there are still things he doesn’t want just anyone to overhear.

“It was discussed but we knew we couldn’t send you out there in harm’s way. Not yet. Your role has yet to come.”

I reply in the same low voice but it’s full of resentment.

“Then you’d better pray that he makes it back here safely because if anything happens to Peeta I will not help you in any way.”

“You don’t even know what we’re asking of you yet.”

“It doesn’t make a difference.” If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s being used and manipulated and played like a pawn. Throwing Peeta to the wolves certainly doesn’t make me more willing to play along. “Get Peeta back here. Safely. Or find somebody else to do whatever you plan on using me for.”

Full of anger, frustration and worry I hurry back to my own room, leaving Haymitch to watch the Games and keep an eye on Salvia. I can’t do anything to help her right now anyway. No sponsors are going to donate any money after the display in the park. Salvia is on her own, just like Peeta out there on the streets of the Capitol.

 

 

I spend three hours nervously waiting in our bedroom. For a while I pace back and forth, then I sit down on the bed. Then I go back to pacing. I’m not good at idly waiting. I’m not sure what I think might happen if peacekeepers get a hold of Peeta, Finnick, Gloss and the rest. I don’t even know if I’m convinced they’d arrest them in broad daylight surrounded by a Capitol audience. Peeta and Finnick are perhaps the two most popular living victors and the citizens of the Capitol don’t like seeing their darlings treated badly. Especially not Peeta, I hope, who just announced that he’s having a baby with his beloved wife.

Briefly I wonder about Gale, watching the interviews back home in Twelve. Does he think Peeta is telling the truth? He has no reason to doubt it. He won’t be pleased to think that I’m back in the same situation I was in four years ago and with no better plan than to make it a sob story in front of all of Panem. Victors mentoring their own children happens all the time; the only difference between Peeta and me and the rest is that people are invested in our love story. That won’t help a child of ours on Reaping Day.

At long last I hear steps in the hallway and I hardly dare to move a muscle until I know who’s approaching. For a brief instance I think it’s Haymitch but then I recognize the sound of Peeta’s footsteps, different than anyone else’s because of his prosthetic leg. The door opens, Peeta walks in and the next second my arms are around him, holding him tight.

“I was worried” I breathe. “Thank God you made it back. Thank God you are okay.”

He holds me very close for a second but then I pull back to look at him and he loosens his grip. He looks weary, his ash blonde curls are in disarray, his clothes wrinkled as if someone has been pulling and tearing at them. There are no signs of any injuries, at least not that I can see, but I quickly feel his face, his shoulders, his chest. I find nothing that seems to hurt and pull him in for another hug, grateful that nothing bad happened.

“I was so worried. Don’t ever do something like that again.”

“I’m sorry” he mumbles into my hair. “I’m sorry.”

Relieved that he got home safely I break the hug to give him a kiss. Another kiss follows and then another and I pull him back towards the bed. He’s tired, a little out of sorts, but I need the reassurance of his presence. I tear at his clothes, remove some of mine and push him down on the bed where I straddle him and let him fill me up. For a second I sit there, completely still, just watching him and revelling at his presence. Then the aching need takes over and I begin to move on top of him.

The first few minutes are sloppy, not entirely coordinated and have a hint of desperation to them. Maybe he wasn’t in any real danger but waiting for him to return brought back bad memories of times when I waited and nobody ever came, times when I was in the arena with him and I knew he could be dead when he was out of my sight. Peeta then seems to come alive beneath me, some of the weariness washing away from him, and he grabs my hips and flips us over. It’s over not long after that and he collapses on top of me, fighting to catch his breath. My hand plays with his hair and I’m trying to think of something to say when there’s a sharp knock on the door.

“Peeta? Katniss?” It’s Haymitch. “Open the door. Now.”

Peeta rolls off me and reaches down to pull his pants back up. I sit up, adjust my clothes and go to open the door which Haymitch is still knocking on.

“What?” I say in an unfriendly tone when I open the door.

“We’re leaving” announces Haymitch briskly. “Let’s go.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Didn’t you hear me? We’re leaving and it’s happening _right now_.”

The tone of his voice makes it very clear that this is a time to obey and not ask questions. I follow him out into the hall, Peeta right behind me. Haymitch leads us past the elevator where the peacekeepers have disappeared and to the stairs that take us up to the roof. I’m shocked to find several other victors waiting up there, along with Cinna, Portia and a few others. My head turns to the noises coming from the streets below. It seems that there is a big commotion down there.

I have a million questions but before I can decide which one I want answered first a deafening noise comes from above us and a hovercraft appears. This day has been full of surprises and there are still more to come. Plutarch Heavensbee appears in the crowd and says something to Beetee and Cinna. A few pieces of the puzzle fall into place but even more questions appear and I know now which one I would like to have answered first.

“Where are we going?” I yell to Haymitch over the loud noise up on the roof. “Where could we possibly escape to?”

“District Thirteen.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus endeth the comfortable lives in the Victors' Village. The revolution is obviously happening in this story but how it all unfolds is yet to come =)
> 
> The complete story is basically written now but updates will still be a few weeks apart, at least for a while. I'm doing some re-writes and there are some things I need to look up in the books (and I lent mine out to a friend).


	6. Part 2 - the Rebellion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting with this chapter and continuing for a few more the story will overlap a bit with events from "Mockingjay". Since I'm not one for re-inventing the wheel I decided not to go into detail about things like life in District 13 or how the rebellion is being organized. Generally speaking, if the story doesn't state otherwise you can assume things work the same way in this fic as they did in the real story. They have schedules tattooed on their arms, Plutarch has his assistant Fulvia with him, etc.

District Thirteen.

It exists. It wasn’t obliterated nearly eighty years ago. Haymitch might as well have told me we were escaping to the moon. I have an entire hovercraft ride in which to ask my questions but my mind seems to have gone blank. Too much has happened at once.

There is a resistance group, I’ve understood that much without a problem. As we ride towards the place I’ve always thought was a barren wasteland Peeta and I are brought up to speed by Haymitch and a few others. Haymitch, Cinna, several victors and even Plutarch Heavensbee are part of it. That’s why the interviews were held live and out among people. Because Plutarch wanted it that way. He wanted it aired live all over Panem. He wanted to send a signal to the people in the districts that something was happening, a calling sign to resistance groups and people willing to rebel alike, and he wanted to cause a stir out on the streets that would give the peacekeepers enough to do that they wouldn’t immediately notice our escape plans. At least three other hovercrafts have been circling the Capitol during the day to maintain order, which in itself made people nervous since that’s not common in the Capitol. Our hovercraft went by undetected in the commotion until it was too late.

A spark has been ignited. A fire has been lit. Rebellion. If it succeeds all the oppressed people in Panem will be free. If it fails the Hunger Games will look mild in comparison to what will happen. I have a hard time comprehending it. It’s even harder when people that I’ve trusted completely have kept me in the dark about all of it.

I sit in silence for a long while, holding Peeta’s hand in mine, not sure if I’m angry that he knew about this and didn’t tell me or if I honestly don’t care. He tells me that all he knew was that President Snow was growing impatient with us for not becoming with child and that his stunt at the interview was planned very shortly in advance. We were expected to become parents very soon after the wedding since we were teenagers and star-crossed lovers who finally got their happy ending. Cinna informs me that pictures of me have been appearing in Capitol magazines every other month or so, analyzing the shape of my body, speculating if I could be pregnant or not. I feel I should be offended but it’s so bizarre. Peeta goes on to explain that Haymitch wanted him to reveal that we’re afraid of having children because we’re afraid of our kids ending up as tributes but Peeta had thought it would be better to play it as me already being pregnant.

When he mentions tributes I turn to Haymitch, sitting opposite us, deep in conversation with Plutarch. I’m still furious with him for having lied to us all these years and for putting Peeta in danger today. Now it occurs to me that Peeta is not the only one in jeopardy.

“What happens to Salvia?” I ask. “Will they kill her?”

“If they can find her” chuckles Plutarch.

“What do you mean?” asks Peeta.

“She dug like a rabbit” says Haymitch. “There’s a tunnel in the arena. It leads out of there. Only a handful of us know about it. She found it.”

“Great, so she found a tunnel and probably immediately remembered what a drunkard who never seemed to give a damn about her rambled about before she was sent into an arena to fight to the death with other kids” I say. “Sounds rock solid.”

“She found the tunnel” says Plutarch. “So did Ophelio and Morrow. Getting three out of six out alive is better than we dared to hope for.”

“Three out of twenty-four” I correct him.

“A more elaborate escape had been desirable but it was deemed too risky.”

“But where is she now?” asks Peeta. “Where does she end up when she’s out of the arena?”

“They will be picked up and brought to District 13.”

Overwhelmed by everything that’s happened today I close my eyes and lean back in my seat. Right now everyone around us seems in high spirits and full of optimism but I can’t share that feeling. In fact I’m frightened to my core. The dice have been thrown and there is no turning back. Everything has been wagered on this. All our futures.

All I can think about is what President Snow is going to do to my child. All I can do is pray that he has much more important things to worry about right now than punishing an innocent child for my role in the rebellion.

Sure, because Coriolanus Snow has always been above punishing children for the sins of others.

 

 

Ten pairs of eyes are looking at me, awaiting my reply. I barely feel like I understood the question. It’s my second day in District 13, a place that is like a whole other world, and we’ve spent the past three hours having as much as possible about the rebellion explained to us.

District 13 was never completely destroyed. Above ground it was bombed to pieces but the survivors were allowed to continue living as long as they did it in secret. Through meticulous planning, organizing and careful division of food and supplies they have managed to create a militaristic society that runs like smooth clockwork. People still live here, underground, plotting to overthrow the Capitol. There is a well thought-out plan in place. Strategies. Weapons. Everything you need to rebel against an oppressing force. And they want me. Not just to fight but to lead. Be a figurehead. I assume that when they say “lead” what they really mean is to make it _appear_ as if I’m fronting the rebellion. The real leader is one Alma Coin, a woman I struggle to find sympathetic but who does seem the proper person to lead something like that.

The role they want me to play is that of a known face to rally around. They even have a name for me – the Mockingjay. They believe people will rally around me, be inspired by me, just as the original spark was ignited by me in the arena. That has been the plan all along, ever since Peeta and I became victors. If I hadn’t gotten ill after the Victory Tour the rebellion would have begun that summer but instead it had to be postponed and they had to make other plans, wait for the opportune moment. It’s bewildering to think I played such a big role without ever knowing it. To think that if I hadn’t gotten pregnant this rebellion would be over already, for good or for bad. It’s frustrating, infuriating even, to know that I have once again been an unwitting pawn in somebody else’s games. Not even Haymitch, who knew all along, bothered to ask me if I _wanted_ to be the face of a revolution.

Apparently I’ve been so important to the rebellion that a lot of plotting and planning has been going on around me without me or Peeta realizing it. We were sent out to mingle among the Capitol people every year during the Games to keep us fresh in people’s memories and to keep us popular. Pictures were taken of us in Twelve without either one of us noticing it, by order of Plutarch and printed in magazines on a regular basis to keep the interest up. All kinds of tricks and stunts, making both Peeta and me feel manipulated and uncomfortable, like we can’t know what to trust and when we truly are alone. At one point I share a look with Peeta and wonder if there’s any merit to the joke he made shortly after our marriage, that perhaps there are videos floating around of him and me in bed together. The thought of it all makes me sick to my stomach and a deep dislike for the people of District 13 and everyone who was part of the secret resistance has begun to fester in me.

So much time, work and effort that has gone into keeping my popularity up. All for the purpose of making me the face of the revolution. All for nothing.

“I’m sorry” I tell the eagerly awaiting faces around the table. “I can’t do it. I can’t be your Mockingjay.”

Several people begin to talk at once, protesting and questioning. President Coin shoots Haymitch a cold look.

“Talk sense to her” she orders. “This meeting is adjourned. We meet again tomorrow morning at 06:00.” Her cold eyes fall on me. “At which point I hope we will have a more sensible, more _grateful_ answer from Ms. Everdeen.”

She can hope whatever she chooses and she can glare at me as much as she wishes. It’s not going to change a thing. I’m not saying no because I have no interest in participating or because I’m afraid for my own sake. If she wants to believe that those are my reasons then she is welcome to do so because I will never reveal my real reason.

If I become the figurehead, the Mockingjay, my child will pay the price.

The room clears out and the only people left are myself, Haymitch and Peeta. Peeta looks from one of us to the next, looking indecisive.

“Should I stay?” he asks. He looks at me. “Do you want me to stay?”

“No need” I answer. “Haymitch, save yourself the trouble. The answer is no.”

“I expected more from you” says Haymitch coldly.

“I can’t” I say, nervously looking at Peeta. “I have reasons but... I just can’t.”

“You’re going to have to do better than that, sweetheart” says Haymitch. His eyes are bloodshot and he looks like hell. There’s a strict policy here against intoxicating substances and although he managed to smuggle in one bottle he has to ration it and he’s not doing so well. Full of spite I think that he deserves every second of withdrawal and I hope it’s particularly agonizing this time around.

“Leave her alone” says Peeta. “The choice is hers. Nobody asked her if she wanted to be part of this. You can’t plan a whole rebellion around her and pressure her into fronting it when she doesn’t feel that she can do it. If you do then you’re no better than the people who lock children in an arena to fight to the death.”

Haymitch and I both look at him with surprise. They want Peeta to play a part as well and he accepted which should put him in the team that wants me to do what they ask. Apparently that is not the case. Peeta holds his gaze firmly locked with Haymitch’s, not faltering and not going to be the one to look away first. Haymitch decides to ignore him and focus on me instead.

“There is a reason why we want _you_ to be the Mockingjay” he says in a marginally more friendly tone than he used a moment ago. “You took the first real step.”

“Inadvertently” I reply. “I never thought about rebellion.”

“That’s right” agrees Haymitch. “You did it because you wanted to show that what they were doing wasn’t right. You wanted to be more than a piece in their games. You wanted to honour Rue and to get both yourself and Peeta out alive. You care about this rebellion as much as anybody here; we know that for damn sure. Why resist doing your part? People know you, people love you and people will rally around you.”

“Why not Peeta?” I ask. “You already have him on board. He’s more likeable than me. He’s a hundred times better at speaking in public than me. He can win them over with just a few words out of his mouth.”

“Peeta is great at the oratory” agrees Haymitch, casting a look at Peeta. “What he isn’t, however, is a fighter.”

“Oh now he’s not a fighter?” I scowl.

“Nor is he the one who lit the flame. We would like to have you both out there but the fact is we need you a lot more than we do him.”

“You may not be able to have her” says Peeta, eyes firmly on Haymitch. “If she doesn’t want to do it you’re out of luck.”

“Be quiet” says Haymitch sharply. “I’m talking to her.”

“And the decision is hers to make” insists Peeta. “It sure isn’t mine. It sounds like she’s already made her decision.”

“That’s enough from both of you” I say. “There’s nothing to discuss. I won’t be, I _can’t_ be the Mockingjay.”

“Why?” demands Haymitch.

For an insane moment I think about telling him the reason. To ask Peeta to step out and share the truth with my mentor. He would understand. Then the moment passes and I realize he may not understand at all. I’ve heard talk since we arrived in Thirteen, talk about the sacrifices made by other victors. A child I’ve not seen in years and only held once may not be considered reason enough to fail to support the rebellion.

“I will help you in any way that I can” I say. “I will help train recruits, I will help organize--”

 “Your organizational skills are worse than that of a platypus” snorts Haymitch.

“I will fight” I say. “Just not front and centre. Just not with a camera on my face.”

“You’re scared” concludes Haymitch. “For Primrose? Your mother? Your special cousin Gale?”

“Leave it alone Haymitch” says Peeta.

“It’s too important for that” argues Haymitch. “This is the most important thing any of us will ever do. We’ve spent a lot of time and energy keeping you alive in people’s minds and hearts and it works. People rally around you.”

“Not once did you ask me if I wanted this role” I point out.

“Nor are we really asking you now. What could possibly be so significant to you that you would fail Panem this way?”

“Haymitch!” barks Peeta.

I shake my head and rise from my seat, done talking about this. There’s no point in talking. He will never understand because I can’t afford to let him understand.

“Trust me Haymitch. I would let everyone down if I _did_ become the Mockingjay. I’m not the girl I was when I entered the arena. I’m not the girl I was when I suggested to Peeta that we take our own lives with the berries.” I’m a mother now, with a precious child who will likely pay the consequences for anything I do. “I can’t be your Mockingjay. It’s not in me. Not anymore.”

Peeta gets up and follows me on my way out. Haymitch doesn’t try to stop us, probably thinking it’s better to try and send Cinna next. I open the door and take a surprised step back as a soldier from Thirteen stands right outside. I recognize him from the meeting earlier but I can’t remember what his name was.

“Ms. Everdeen, Mr. Mellark” he notes. “Haymitch.”

“What is it, Boggs?” asks Haymitch in a tired sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“I have news” says Boggs, motioning for Peeta and me to go back inside. He steps inside the room and closes the door. “President Coin sent me.”

“Did they find the tributes?” asks Haymitch.

“The tributes? Yes, they were picked up a few hours ago and are being brought here as we speak.” He looks at Peeta and me. “Have a seat.” We oblige and he walks around the table, standing with his hands at the small of his back, looking grave. “There has been retaliation.”

“I assumed that would follow” murmurs Haymitch. “What did they do?”

Boggs gives us a sympathetic look.

“District 12.”

Fear grips my heart. I thought things were already bad in Twelve but I knew they could get worse still. My mind plays up several scenarios I fear have become truths over the past two days. More public beatings, more public whippings, several people arrested and held for questioning, the gallows put to effective use. Martial law implemented. Whatever food was left being taken. Peeta’s hand finds mine on the table and it’s reassuring to feel it in mine.

“What did they do?” he asks Boggs.

“Bombed it.”

My heart nearly stops.

“Bombed?” I echo in a barely audible moan, seeing before me how Prim and my mother go up in flames.

“Late last night. We got the intel as it happened but it took a while to determine what really went on.”

“How bad is it?” asks Haymitch.

“I’m sorry. There is no District 12 anymore.”

Silence fills the room. Even Haymitch seems shocked. I can barely breathe, barely think, barely comprehend. I lean in to Peeta, feeling his arm around me, wondering what we are going to do now. District 12 completely gone.

“Survivors?” asks Haymitch hoarsely.

“None yet. None that we know of.”

Everybody gone. Prim, Mother, Gale... Who cares about Mockingjays or a revolution at this moment? District 12 is gone and nobody has survived. Haymitch, Peeta, myself and Salvia Smith are all that are left.

 

 

The next two day pass in a haze of uncertainty before good news comes. There are survivors. They are on their way to Thirteen. A hovercraft has found them and begun to pick them up, as many as the ship can carry at a time. The exact number of survivors is not known but it’s thought to be between five hundred and a thousand. Peeta and I desperately hope that our loved ones are among them and so does Salvia, who arrived to Thirteen scared and alone, frightened of the other surviving tributes, of the soldiers, of everything that has happened. We should probably be taking care of her but we’re so worried ourselves and she’s being kept in the hospital ward at the moment so she’s probably in more capable hands without us interfering.

It’s relieving to be in relative safety in District 13 but it’s a different kind of life. Everything is run on very precise schedules with little flexibility. Every morning your schedule for the day is tattooed on to your arm and it stays in place until you bathe or shower in the afternoon. The only things I like about the schedules are the meal times. The rest of it feels like brand new oppression, like we’re being held in a cage or a different kind of arena with no personal freedom. Peeta and I are both put into training right away. They want us as soldiers. I don’t see much of him because we train in different places. It’s a gruelling training program and it leaves me with little time to think or to worry. Now that I know there is a chance my friends and family survived I can breathe a little easier but there is still a part of my heart that worries for my child and that part gives me no rest.

President Coin calls me to a meeting with Plutarch, Boggs, Finnick Odair, Beetee and three others whose names I don’t know. It’s not hard to guess what they want but my answer stays the same.

“I would have thought the recent events would change your mind” says Coin in a not very friendly tone.

“They haven’t” I reply. “Nothing will.”

“Is that really how you wish to treat the people who look to you for guidance?” asks Boggs. “You have a responsibility as a victor and as the person who took the first step towards revolution.”

“I’m sorry” I say. “Turn to someone else. Why not Finnick?”

“I’m doing my part in public but if I were suitable as figurehead the revolution would have happened a decade ago” answers Finnick calmly.

“If I was your only hope it would have happened four years ago” I reply. “There are three newer victors – choose one of them!”

“In case you didn’t notice there’s not an abundance of people here from Districts One and Two” remarks Beetee.

“You haven’t given us a reason” says Finnick softly. “All you’ve said is that you won’t do it. At the very least you owe us an explanation.”

“I’m not a leader” I say. “I’m not even a warrior. I have no gift for public speaking. I’m not memorable on my own, or engaging, or charming, that has always been Peeta’s doing. I’m not strong. I’m frightened. I’m tired of being used and manipulated. My home has been destroyed without me even taking part in the decision that lead to that retaliation. You may pick whichever reason seems most acceptable to you.”

Having nothing more to say on the subject I leave the room and head back to training. Sooner or later President Coin and her crew will have to give up and find somebody else to front their campaign. On my way down to the training rooms I run into Cinna. I’m not very pleased to see him. He’s just one more person who’s kept me in the dark all these years. Still, when he puts his arm around my shoulders and offers me his support I can’t help but take it. I sit down with him on a nearby bench and try to find the same measure of comfort in him that I did before the Games.

“Cinna?” I ask. “Do you think I’m ungrateful for not agreeing to be the figurehead?” Whatever he answers I won’t change my mind but I hate the thought of Cinna being disappointed in me even though I’m so very disappointed in him. “A lot of people have taken a lot of risks and worked very hard for this.”

“That’s true” nods Cinna. “But you can’t make a decision like this based on that. You have to feel okay with it. Otherwise it will just show on your face and the whole thing will fall apart anyway.” He pulls me closer and plants a kiss on the top of my head. “You already are the Mockingjay, Katniss. You were the Mockingjay in the arena. If you want to pick up the part again I think you could do wonders but if you can’t then know that you’ve already done a lot.”

“Thank you” I say, feeling a little bit better.

“Now go back to training and then get some sleep. Tomorrow is a big day.”

I nod and know that he’s right. Tomorrow evening the refugees from Twelve are scheduled to arrive and that’s all I want to think about right now. Until I know that everyone I care about is safe nothing else really matters.

 

 

The commotion is unbelievable as Peeta and I come hurrying out into the mess hall. There are more than eight hundred fugitives from District 12 and not all of them can fit in the mess at once but as many as possible have made their way inside. They are all hungry, weary, marked by the horrors they have seen and the losses they have suffered. Many of them have injuries, some minor and some not so minor. At some later point I will stop and ponder my own role in their despair but right now all I can think about is my family and whether they are among the eight hundred or not.

“Katniss!” says Peeta, tapping me on my shoulder.

I turn my head in the direction he points and there I see Prim and my mother. An uncharacteristic squeal of relief passes over my lips. They look dirty and weary but not physically injured. Our eyes meet and we make our way towards each other, Prim reaching me first and throwing her arms around me. I hold her as close as I can, feeling an enormous weight fall off my shoulders. She’s alive. Mother is alive. Thank God.

When I release my grip on Prim my mother pulls me in for a hug and it’s great to be reunited with her. While I’m hugging her I look over at Prim whose arms are now around Peeta and a warm sensation spreads through my body. I’ve never really paid attention to the relationship that has formed between my sister and my husband but from the way they’re interacting now it seems like Prim views him as an older brother in much the same way she does with Gale. Peeta’s kindness and affection towards my sister makes me care about him even more and I’m so grateful that we’re all together again in the midst of all this chaos.

“Were you scared?” Peeta asks Prim as they break their hug.

“Yeah” nods Prim. “But I knew we would be okay.”

“There are so many people here...” I note, letting go of my mother and looking out over the crowd. “Yet not nearly enough. What happened to the rest? Those who didn’t make it here?”

“Katniss...” says Peeta gently.

I nod slowly. I already knew the answer but I was clinging to a vain hope that I might be mistaken and that everyone else might be fine. Eight hundred people is a very small number. All the rest are dead. All because of the rebellion.

We find out from my mother that District 13 displayed its trademark efficiency when they arrived and took down the names of every person in the group before they were allowed inside. Further commotion begins to stir a few minutes later when they begin to release a list of all the survivors. With eight hundred refugees many don’t even know if their entire family made it out, not to mention friends and relatives. The lists come slowly, there are far too few for the amount of people here, and I am very eager to get a hold of a copy as soon as I can. My family is safe but there are others in District 12 I would like to see here in District 13. Unfortunately the lists are being distributed from the other end of the room and the crowd is too thick for there to be any point in trying to make my way through it and obtain a list. All I can do is wait.

“Peeta!” Haymitch’s voice shouts from somewhere in the crowd. “Katniss!”

Suddenly our mentor emerges from the crowd with a copy of the list in his hand. I could kiss him! There’s nobody left in Twelve that matters to him so I know he got the list for our benefit. For the moment all my resentment towards him is forgotten and I’m grateful for his help. He hands the list to Peeta and then points my mother and sister in the direction of Solveig, the District 13 woman responsible for housing the newly arrived.

“You want to get quarters now” instructs Haymitch. “Soon everybody’s going to be wanting to find out where they will be sleeping and the more people we can get out of this room right now, the better.”

I kiss Prim and my mother on the cheek and tell them I will meet up with them later. Then I practically snatch the list out of Peeta’s hands and we begin to look through it together. The names are listed alphabetically and I want to skip straight to H but Peeta is eager to know if any of his friends have made it.

When we finally get to H I let out an audible sigh of relief. The Hawthornes are here. All of them. I don’t know that I was necessarily worried about Gale as he would have had the smarts to get out as soon as possible but it is nice to have confirmation that he is okay. And his siblings and his mother...

I hand the list back to Peeta and dive into the crowds looking for them. There are people everywhere, wounded and dirty and weary. Most of them pay no attention to me so I have to elbow my way through the room. Through dumb luck I manage to find Gale and his family in the sea of people after only a few minutes and Gale and I hug each other so tight that it almost makes it hard to breathe. My eyes register that he is even dirtier than Mother and Prim and he’s got bruises and gashes that tell me he’s had a rough time lately but at least he’s alive and walking and talking.

“It’s so good to see you, Catnip” Gale exhales in my ear. “We didn’t know if the rebels made it out alive or not. The Capitol implied that you hadn’t in their last broadcast before the electricity went out but I don’t trust them as far as I can throw them.”

“Thank God you’re all alright” I answer. “How did you get out?”

“It was Gale” says Vick. “He’s the one who got all of us out. And kept us hidden, and found food for us to eat.”

Gale blushes and seems uncomfortable with the praise.

“It doesn’t matter how we all got out” he says. “What matters is that we’re here. Eight hundred is not a lot but at least some of us made it out...”

I nod.

“I can’t believe they did this... I can’t believe they made an example out of District 12.”

Gale nods and hugs me again. After he lets me go I hug his siblings and Hazelle, grateful that they are all here and doing well. As I let go of Gale’s mother I cast a look over my shoulder. Peeta is standing where I left him, still looking through the list with a look of growing desperation on his face. I wonder if he has lost one of his friends, but Haymitch is standing behind him with a hand on his shoulder so I know he’s not alone. Rory tugs on my sleeve and asks me where they will be staying and for the moment I forget about Peeta and his possibly dead friends.

“We have to talk to a woman named Solveig about your living quarters” I tell Rory. “Come to think of it, why don’t we do it right now? Before everybody else finds out who they need to talk to.”

 

 

It takes over an hour to find the room allotted for Gale and his family. It is only slightly larger than Peeta’s and mine and I wonder how they will all be able to fit in there, though I know it’s not worth griping about. They’re alive and they’re safe and small living quarters are not a big price to pay for such luxuries. Even the militaristic discipline of the district seems like a minor matter right now. The room looks similar to ours but it has three cots instead of one. In our room there is a cot to the right wall when you step inside, then a small table with two chairs, a tiny dresser and a door leading to a small bathroom. The Hawthornes have to use a common bathroom in the hall, having a cot on the left wall where our bathroom is and another, smaller cot above the one to the right. They only have one more chair than we do so I suppose they will have to eat every meal in the mess. Compared to the conditions they’ve been living under for the past few days it’s luxury, to everyone but Gale who could live in the woods with ease. On the other hand, the conditions they have been living in with close to a thousand refugees must have been difficult for him as well.

I stay with them for two more hours, finding out everything that has happened to them since the electricity went out in District 12 after the interviews in the park. It fills me with horror to hear what cruel ends most of the people of District 12 came to and I’m surprised to hear the Victors’ Village was spared.

“I suppose they need it in case some hotshot from the Capitol comes over” I say dryly.

“Prim hopes this means that Buttercup survived” says Gale.

“If there’s one casualty I wouldn’t cry over it’s that darn cat” I mutter. “Speaking of Prim, though, I should find out where they are sleeping and go and see that they are settling in alright.”

“Don’t you think they’re staying with you?” asks Gale.

“There’s no room in our quarters” I say, getting up from my seat on the floor. Gale makes a face and I frown. “What?”

“Nothing. Go make sure your family is alright. I’ll see you again in the morning.”

I nod, bid them all a good night and head out into the corridor where people are wandering around everywhere looking for their assigned quarters. Having been in District 13 for a few days already I’ve picked up a few tricks and I know how to access the program that tells you who lives where. On every floor there is a screen where you can find out who lives on that floor and where and it tells me where I can find my mother and sister.

When I get to their room they are settling in and seem to be doing well under the circumstances, though Prim is terribly upset that Buttercup might not have made it. I get to hear the whole story of the evacuation from them as well and they cannot praise Gale enough for his quick thinking, his heroism and his courage. I smile at the praise directed at my best friend. He may not be comfortable accepting it but I have no trouble doing so on his behalf.

I sit with them until it’s almost midnight. Under normal circumstances this would put me in big trouble for not returning to my own quarters before eleven o’clock but tonight people are still up and about in the corridors. Even District 13 can’t smoothly assign and direct eight hundred people to their new sleeping quarters and some appear to still be waiting for theirs. I say goodnight to Prim and my mother and begin to slowly walk back to my own room.

The way there takes me through the mess which is now far less crowded and fairly quiet. The people who are still here seem to have decided that they might as well spend the night here and have curled up along the walls to get some sleep, the hard floor being only marginally more uncomfortable than the ground they’ve been sleeping on for the past few days. A number of copies of the list of survivors are scattered throughout the room and I stop to pick one up that looks like it has all its pages still intact. There aren’t a lot of people in District 12 that I care about personally but I would like to know if Greasy Sae and Madge made it out with their families.

It takes a while to read through the list, and Madge’s name won’t appear until towards the end, if it’s on here at all. I’m relieved to note that Sae and her granddaughter are both fine and I keep turning the pages to get to the letter U. I can’t stop myself from quickly browsing each page to see how many names I recognise and it’s good to see at least some people I went to school with being on the list.

I’m eyeing through the Rs when it occurs to me that something isn’t quite right. There’s something that I’m missing but I can’t put my finger to it. The feeling remains there for a few minutes, beckoning for my attention but I can’t make sense of it. I make it as far as the Ts before it dawns on me that there are a couple of names I should have read by now.

With fumbling fingers I turn the pages back to the letter M and read it quickly and as thoroughly as I can. There are only six names that begin with the letter M and none of them is a Mellark. A lump begins to grow in my chest as the meaning dawns on me. My in-laws, Peeta’s parents and brothers, did not make it.

The memory of Peeta’s face looking through the list with a hint of panic comes back to me and I toss the list aside and hurry back towards our rooms. He was looking for his family but he never found them. They’re all gone. Burned to death, or worse. I’ve been so relieved that the people I care about the most are safe that I never gave a thought to Peeta’s family.

As I reach our room I fumble with the doorknob, wondering what I’m supposed to say to Peeta now. I decide that there is nothing I can say that will help him at all so I will just hold him and let him do the talking if he wishes to. I think of my father-in-law, the kind baker who has been so good to me since long before I became his son’s wife. My brothers-in-law who always treated me kindly. It’s unimaginable that they are gone now.

When the door opens it takes me a moment to see anything as the only source of light in the room is a candle on the table. I close the door behind me and it gets even darker but after a moment my eyes begin to adjust. Peeta is lying on the bed, curled up on his side facing away from the door. Haymitch sits next to him, legs stretched out and head leaned back. He must have finished what was left in his bottle because he doesn’t look like he’s going through withdrawal at the moment. He gives me a weary look full of contempt.

“I wasn’t sure you would come” he says.

“How is Peeta?” I ask. “Is he asleep?”

“I gave him sleep syrup” says Haymitch. “I’ve never seen him this upset.” With a grunt he sits up more straight and shoots me an ice-cold stare. “There are times when you manage to convince me that you genuinely care about the boy, even if you’re not in _love_ with him. That always passes sooner or later because you can always be counted upon to prove your indifference.”

“Haymitch...” I begin with a voice that trembles slightly.

“I’m glad for your sake that Gale is alive” continues Haymitch. “I’m glad that your mother and sister are, too. They will still be alive tomorrow, though, and you could have waited at least one night to gossip with them. Peeta needed you today. I assume that by now you’ve picked up the news that his whole family is dead. Along with practically everybody else who was merchant.”

“I didn’t know” I say.

“You know, he asked for you. Once. Then it was as if he accepted that you weren’t going to show up and offer your support and that makes me angrier than any of the rest of it.”

He doesn’t say anything else and he doesn’t have to. The implication is clear enough. It is surprisingly painful to realize that Peeta accepted that I wouldn’t be there. I rely on him but he does not rely on me. I know he trusts me with his life but somewhere along the line he has realized and grown to accept that when he needs support, emotionally or otherwise, I’m not one to cling to.

It really upsets me and I don’t know if I’m more angry with him or with myself. Even if you disregard that we are married he is my friend and he has always come through for me. He is my life companion, even if not by choice, and though he’s the one who went into the marriage being in love he is the one who is never emotionally safe. At the same time I’m not sure I can be blamed for not being here when he asked for me. I didn’t know what had happened.

“I didn’t know” I tell Haymitch. “I would have been here if I did.”

“All you had to do to find out was read the list” says Haymitch. “You didn’t care enough to check if they were alright. You may very well be the last person from District 12 who learns that the baker and his wife and older sons are dead, and you’re married to the surviving son. In case you were wondering, I do believe there will be a lot of people questioning why you were off gallivanting with your cousin when your husband had just learned--”

“What are you even doing here, Haymitch?” I cut him off coldly. “It’s midnight. I’m sure there’s a bottle somewhere waiting for you.”

“Sadly, no” sighs Haymitch.

“Why are you still here? Peeta’s knocked out; he doesn’t need you right now.”

Haymitch gets up off the bed and gives me a sad look.

“I didn’t want him to wake up alone tomorrow morning.”

I glare at him. Did he really think I was going to spend the night anywhere else? I was on my way back here before I knew what had happened to my in-laws.

“He won’t be alone” I assure him. “Now go.”

He leaves without another word and I quickly pull the shirt over my head and let my pants drop to the floor, rooting through the dresser to find something to wear for the night. Dressed in a ragged old pyjamas I crawl into bed next to Peeta. He’s out cold from the sleep syrup but his face is anything but relaxed. I get as close to him as I can and wrap my body around his. If he wakes up before I do I want my presence to be the first thing he’s aware of.

 

 

When I wake up Peeta is still sound asleep. I lie there for a while, wondering what today is going to be like. It should have been about reuniting with friends and family and forgetting everything that’s going on around us for just a little while. Instead it will be about comforting Peeta.

Carefully I roll over on my back and cast a glance at the alarm clock. It’s just past six in the morning. All these early mornings must have programmed my body to waking up around now, regardless of when I went to bed. I’m not sure when Peeta was given the sleep syrup but he could probably be out for another couple of hours. In the meantime I should get some breakfast and I would prefer getting it now before anyone I know will be in the mess. Under normal circumstances they won’t give you any food unless it’s your allotted time but if I’m lucky I can convince them otherwise under the current conditions. If not then at least I tried.

I get up and put my clothes on. Before I leave the room I cast another glance at Peeta who doesn’t seem to have moved a muscle since I came back last night. I hope he will sleep for a few more hours because when he wakes up he’s going to be facing something horrible. I know far too well what it’s like to lose a parent unexpectedly and Peeta has lost both his parents and all of his siblings. It’s not going to be an easy time ahead.

Luckily there are very few people up when I get to the mess and I manage to procure and eat my breakfast quickly and quietly thanks to Greasy Sae who has already found herself working in the kitchen. We’re not allowed to bring food out of the mess hall but all I have to do is tell the man behind the counter that it’s for my husband who lost his family in the District 12 bombing and there are no arguments to me bringing breakfast to him. Balancing his allotted share on a tray I make my way back to our room and, with some difficulty, manage to get the door open.

To my surprise Peeta is awake. He has gotten up from under the covers but is still on the bed, leaning back against the wall and with his arms wrapped around his knees, the communicuff they’ve given him clearly visible on his wrist. His hair is a mess, as are his clothes and I realize he slept in the same things he wore yesterday. His eyes are bloodshot and weary and stare out into space, not reacting when I walk inside the room.

He woke up all alone. Haymitch is going to kill me for this.

“You’re up” I say softly.

“Yeah” replies Peeta in a hoarse whisper.

Unsure of what to say and do I walk over to the table and set the tray down.

“I brought you breakfast.”

“Thanks” says Peeta but makes no move to eat it or even look at it.

I don’t remember having much of an appetite either when my father had died but I also know he has to eat something and the rations we get here in Thirteen are not exactly ones that will build up your fat reserve. I don’t want him missing any meals more than necessary. He’s already been giving me too much of his own shares and I’ve greedily been taking them without question.

“You should try and eat it” I say.

“Leave it there” he replies in a monotone.

I look at him for a moment, wishing I knew how to convey how deeply sorry I am for his loss. Even though I have suffered a similar loss myself I don’t know how to best help Peeta. One thing I learned from losing my father is that everybody deals with grief differently.

It pains me to wonder what Peeta must have thought of me last night when I didn’t bother to check if my in-laws had made it and I never showed up to console him. Then on top of that he woke up all alone. Personally I think I would have preferred to wake up alone in this situation but Peeta isn’t like me. I step closer to the bed and wring my hands slowly.

“I thought you would be sleeping for a little while longer” I say lamely, wishing he would stop staring into nothing and look at me. “I thought it was smarter if I went and had breakfast before you woke up and... Peeta I’m truly sorry.”

“Yeah” he mouths.

“You should wash up” I say, just to get him to do something other than sit there. “Put on some clean clothes. I’ll make the bed while you change.”

He says nothing but after about ten seconds he slowly scoots over to the edge of the bed and gets up. Mechanically he pulls his shirt over his head and lets it lie where it falls. He steps out of his pants and walks inside the small bathroom to wash up and I quickly make the bed. I pick up his discarded clothes and find a new set for him to wear once he gets out from the bathroom. He emerges after a few minutes, still needing a shave but at least washed up.

“Here” I say, handing him a pair of standard District 13 boxers.

He takes them and puts them on, still staring into nowhere. I manage to get him to put on a new pair of pants and a shirt and then I usher him to the table, hoping that he will eat when he sees the food in front of him. His eyes actually do move down to the tray but they land on the thin slice of bread and I quickly realize that I should have left that in the mess.

“Peeta...” I try.

He gets up and walks back to the bed, taking the same position he had before. There is a knock on the door and I hurry to open, hoping that it’s Haymitch and that he will know what to say or do. I should be embarrassed that I don’t know how to get through to my own husband at a time like this but I could care less about that right now. All I want is for somebody to be able to console Peeta, even if it can’t be me.

It turns out to be Gale. Before he can say a word I look over my shoulder at Peeta, tell him I will be right back, and step out into the hall with the door closing behind me. For some reason I don’t think it will help Peeta to see Gale right now, especially not seeing Gale coming to look for me. He must have guessed I was with him last night and even if that’s only partially true I would still prefer to spare him the reminder.

“You’re up early” I say to Gale.

“Couldn’t sleep, though it’s 8:30” answers Gale.

“It’s 8:30 already?”

“Yeah, and according to my forearm it’s apparently time for a lesson in nuclear history. They don’t waste a lot of time here, do they?”

“No” I agree. “They don’t.”

“I just came from the mess. I heard that Peeta’s family didn’t make it.” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Okay, I don’t know why I’m lying. I didn’t know for absolute certain but I had a feeling they weren’t among the eight hundred. I didn’t see them and I figured one of them would have sought me out, or Rory at least. How is Peeta doing?”

Like me Gale has the unfortunate experience of losing a parent and I guess he would understand Peeta’s current emotions as good as anyone. Though right now I’m not sure _I_ understand Peeta’s emotions. I’ve never seen him closed off like this before.

“He’s taking it pretty hard” I tell Gale. “It’s his whole family.”

“Poor guy” says Gale, looking pained at the thought. Then his hands land on my shoulders and his eyes study mine. “And what about you, Catnip?”

“What about me?”

Gale is the last person I thought would worry about how I feel losing my in-laws. I know he doesn’t think of them as my _real_ in-laws since he views my entire marriage to Peeta as a sham but then again they are people that I have spent time with and had awkward family dinners with. They do mean _something_ in my life even though I haven’t allowed myself to think of the full impact of what their deaths will mean to me.

“I was just worried” says Gale. “After all, they are...” He pauses and looks around. We’re all alone out in the hallway but he still leans in and whispers in my ear. “They were your child’s grandparents and uncles.”

A lump begins to form in my throat. I hadn’t allowed myself to think about that yet either. I hark my throat, cross my arms over my chest and try my best to look indifferent.

“They are. On a pure b... basic level. I can’t think of it as any more than that.”

“Do you need anything?” asks Gale.

“No” I say. “Thank you.” I pull him in for a hug, overcome with affection for him. He didn’t have to come here this morning. He can be so very sweet sometimes. I pull away from the hug and offer a joyless smile. “I should go back in there” I say. “Peeta needs me.”

“Tell Peeta I’m very sorry.”

“I will.”

I go back inside the room where Peeta doesn’t seem to have moved an inch. At a loss for what to do I walk over and get up on the bed next to him, sitting as close to him as he will allow me to. I wish he would at least cry. He would feel better afterward if he did and it’s not like him to keep his emotions bottled up. Or at least it didn’t use to be.

“Is there anything I can do?” I ask.

“No.”

Memories of when my own father died coupled with the reminder that the Mellarks were related to my child and how much I hate seeing Peeta in pain make me wish even more fervently that he would express his grief somehow. I feel a few tears fall down my own cheeks and I wipe them off with the back of my hand and sniffle. This catches Peeta’s attention and he looks at me with a bewildered expression.

“Why are you crying?” he asks.

“People that I care about are dead” I mumble, feeling like an idiot. “Your parents, your brothers... I cared about them.”

He looks at me for a second and I wonder if he’s offended or angry or something else negative. I know that his emotions might not exactly be rational right now. Then I almost groan with relief when tears begin to fall down his cheeks as well. I grab a hold of him and pull him closer, resting his head against my chest. He wraps an arm around me and lets out a sob. I let my right hand gently caress his head while he cries in silence for a few minutes.

“They’re dead because of me” he says through his sobs.

“No, hush... It’s not because of you.”

“They had to put up with so much because of me.”

“They were proud of you. They were really proud of you. They thought you were doing the right thing, you know they did.”

I’m crying as well and it seems to comfort him to know that I’m upset about what happened. Right now though I’m more relieved than upset. At least until he opens his mouth again.

“I don’t have a family anymore, Katniss.”

The comment stuns me so much that I don’t know what to say or how to react. Does he mean that the family he was born into is gone? Or does he mean that he has no family left whatsoever? I’m his family, or at least that’s what I thought. But right now is not the time to figure out what he really means. He might not even know what he means. My thoughts were far from rational in the first few days after my father died.

“I’m all alone now” he mumbles in a resigned tone.

“You have me” I tell him. “You’ll always have me. You have Haymitch, too. Try as you might I don’t think you’ll ever be able to get rid of him.”

Peeta doesn’t answer. He doesn’t say anything at all for a long while. We end up lying down on the bed with a blanket covering us, me on my back and Peeta resting beside me with his head on my chest and an arm wrapped around my waist. I have my left arm wrapped around his shoulders and buried in his hair while my right hand caresses the arm he has draped over me. He is calmer now, a few tears every few minutes but no sobs.

“Scotti was getting married” he says in a monotone. “She didn’t get out either.”

“Looks like very few people from town did.”

“Just as well, I guess. Maybe she wouldn’t have wanted to live if he was gone.”

“Perhaps not.”

I’m filled with new pain when I think about Scotti’s upcoming wedding. It was planned to take place the first Saturday after whichever day Peeta and I would return from the Capitol. It would have to be small and humble with the shortage of food and supplies but to me a small and intimate wedding seems eons better than the grandiose event they threw for Peeta and me. There would at least be wedding cake, baked by the father of the groom and decorated by Peeta. The last week before the Reaping he talked a lot about his ideas for the cake and I realize now how much I was looking forward to seeing it. I’ve seen the beautiful creations he can accomplish without much incentive; the kind of decorating he must be able to do for his brother’s wedding cake, a person he loves, must be truly something. Now that cake will never exist outside of Peeta’s mind and he will never be able to make one for Ryean either. They’re both gone now.

I think of how I had begun to feel nervous about attending the wedding. It would be my first one, aside from my own, not counting ones I attended as a small child which I don’t remember anything of. It was the thought of the toasting that made me feel uncomfortable. I don’t remember ever witnessing one before and I haven’t been sure how I would feel being there with Peeta watching his brother perform the ceremonial toasting with his bride. Peeta and I never had a toasting. After the wedding he said he didn’t want one. It’s an important distinction to him, or at least it was when we were first married, that we’re not truly married and we shouldn’t forget that. Lately I’ve been thinking that maybe we _should_ have a toasting and make it real in every sense. We wouldn’t have to invite anyone over; we could just do it the two of us at home. We’re never going to be with anyone else but each other, we have an intimate physical relationship and we share almost everything in our lives. We’re already as married as can be, there’s no sense in denying that, and it almost seems silly to not have a toasting. I know though that Peeta would say no if I suggested a toasting. Or he would misunderstand my intentions and say yes for that reason which would be worse. He’s never said it out loud but I know why he doesn’t want that particular tradition for us. This marriage was forced upon us. If I hadn’t suggested that he propose to me on the Victory Tour it would have had to happen at some point anyway. Peeta knows it wasn’t my real choice, that _he_ wasn’t what I wanted. I can’t suggest that we have a toasting unless it’s because I know I would want to be married to him if it was all up to me to choose. He lives every day with the knowledge that I’m not truly his and I have to have enough respect for him to not suggest a step he would only want in other circumstances.

There’s a knock on the door and we both look up. I call out to whoever it is that they can enter and Haymitch walks in to the room. Peeta greets him quietly and Haymitch nods back at him, taking a seat by the table.

“How are you doing, boy?” he asks softly.

“How much of this was my doing, Haymitch?” asks Peeta in reply.

“None of it” answers Haymitch. “If you want to be mad at somebody or cast the blame at somebody then let it be me.”

“Let it be Snow” I argue. “Everyone in the Capitol. They did this.”

Peeta sighs heavily.

“Doesn’t really matter, does it? They’re gone, no matter what.”

Haymitch nods slowly. He remains sitting there for hours, neither one of us speaking much. Both Haymitch’s and Peeta’s communicuffs signal a few times but all three of us ignore it. I’m glad Haymitch is there, that we can show Peeta that he has us, no matter what. His father, mother and brothers are gone but as long as Haymitch and I are alive he still has a family.

“President Coin wants to move fast” says Haymitch after a few hours. “Retaliate. Strike back. Rally the other districts when they’re still appalled by what happened to Twelve, before they can begin to fear the same thing happening to them.”

“You mean they know what happened in other districts?” I ask.

“Of course. The point was not only punishment but to scare the other districts.”

Peeta lifts his head from my chest.

“You need Katniss to be in training?”

“Not today. I told Coin that neither one of you will be taking part in training for a few days.”

“How well did that go over?” I ask. I don’t know President Coin well but from what I can tell she’s not the most compassionate type.

“You have already paid a price for your contributions” answers Haymitch. “She may not like it but she knows that she owes you some time to grieve.” He gives me a look. “Both of you.”

 

 

The next few days are difficult. Peeta stays mostly in our room, alternating between crying and staring into space and talking about the people he has lost. He tells me things I never knew. Stories of picnics they had when he was little, stories of when he and his brothers made a tent from bed sheets and camped there for two days until their mother threw a fit, stories of when his father first taught him how to decorate a cake. At first I mostly just listen but after a while I begin to add my own stories about his family. We talk about the cookies his father brought me before the Games and the squirrels I used to sell them and the time Peeta had the flu and his mother came over and rearranged almost everything in the house. Sometimes we laugh, which feels good. Sometimes I wonder what Peeta’s family would have been like as grandparents and uncles. It’s too difficult to think about so I often leave the thought be and try to focus on something else instead.

I get Peeta to come out to the mess and eat. The first day people leave us alone but on the second I am again accosted by Boggs and Plutarch and others like them who haven’t given up on trying to convince me to be the Mockingjay. If anything they seem even more insistent now, as if the death of Peeta’s family should make me want to figurehead the revolution. I suppose there’s a bit of logic to that but my reason for refusing has not changed.

One day during dinner Peeta grows tired of their talk and heads back to our room to be alone for a while, leaving more than half his meal for me to finish. I watch him go, wishing he had stayed so I wasn’t alone with Plutarch Heavensbee, and finish my own food as fast as I can. Then I excuse myself and leave the mess, only to run into Gale in the hallway.

“Hey” he says. We haven’t seen each other in a few days now. “How are you?”

"Good” I say because I don’t know what else to tell him. “What about you?”

“Busy. Really busy.” He smiles a little. “You know, this District 13 place is not at all bad. Everyone here is determined to fight and to help the other districts. It’s such a relief to no longer have to watch what I say or hide how I feel.”

“Wow” I say, surprised by his little tangent.

“I’ve been recruited to fight.”

I don’t know why hearing that surprises me. Of course they’d want Gale. He’s strong, he’s skilled, he’s a fighter. It just didn’t cross my mind in these past few days when I’ve been held up with Peeta, that the training continues. I notice that he too has a communicuff. It seems like I’m the only one without one at the moment. Coin refuses to grant me one until I agree to play my part and that’s just fine to me. Peeta’s drives me crazy half the time and I can’t imagine having to carter one around myself.

“What about you?” asks Gale. “Will you be coming back to training soon? You should see the bows they have here, Katniss!”

It sounds very intriguing. I would love to hear more about the bows, or better yet, see them with my own eyes. Just not yet.

“I will be around eventually” I say.

“What’s the hold-up?” asks Gale. “We need you _now_. They’re planning on moving out really soon, Katniss.”

“I know” I nod. “It’s just, right now... Whatever Peeta needs comes first. I have to be there for him. Help him through these first few days.”

The previous compassion in Gale’s face is momentarily replaced by something harder.

“I didn’t have the luxury of several days when my father died.”

“If your entire family had died you wouldn’t have needed to feed anyone” I reply, colder than I meant it.

“Fine, whatever, just...” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “You’re needed, Katniss. Nobody is better with a bow than you are.”

“I sincerely doubt that bows are their primary weapons in this revolution.”

“You know what I mean.”

On an impulse I grab Gale by the sleeve and pull him with me into a nearby closet. It’s dark in there, not to mention there’s not much space, so we end up standing pressed together looking each other in the eye.

“I’m a little confused” says Gale.

“There’s something I need to talk to you about” I say, not realizing until now just how badly I’ve needed him to talk to. “Have you heard what they ask of me?”

“Yeah, something about you being the Mockingjay?”

“Yeah” I say. “I can’t do it, Gale. I feel like a horrible person for saying no and it frustrates me so much that I can’t explain to anybody why. You understand, don’t you?”

“The baby” says Gale.

“Right” I say, getting worked up as I talk. “President Snow will do something to the baby if I am in any way a visible part of this rebellion. It all makes sense now. Why he was so willing to go along with my plan, why he didn’t just... He knew they would want me for something like this and that I would never be able to agree to it.”

“I don’t know, Catnip...” says Gale. “I think you _should_ be the Mockingjay.”

My jaw falls and it takes a moment of me stuttering and sputtering before I can get a reply out. Has he lost his mind completely?

“Gale I _can’t_!”

“If President Snow was going to kill your child he would have done it already” argues Gale. “In retaliation for inciting the rebellion for real.”

“We don’t _know_ that” I argue.

“That’s his hold on you, Katniss. That you’ll never know for sure. He can’t prove to you that the baby lives, therefore he will always have that power over you. Don’t you see?”

I most certainly do not see. What Gale is saying doesn’t make sense to me.

“Look, Gale, you may be right that he can’t prove to me if the child is alive or dead but that changes nothing.”

“It changes everything, Katniss. What’s he going to do? Think about it. Is he going to go take the kid from its home and have an execution? What is he going to tell the parents? How would he be able to justify it? Even if he did tell the world that the child is yours by me that wouldn’t help him. The Capitol people may love the Hunger Games but even they can’t condone the murder of a three year old child. And if he kills the kid in secret what would be the point?”

“The point would be to punish me.”

“Doesn’t work if you don’t hear about it. I think that’s his whole plan – that you won’t know whether or not he’s hurt your child. For all you know the child is already dead. So why not become the Mockingjay? Why not stand up against him? If he’s going to kill your child he will do so with or without you fronting the revolution.”

He’s probably intending to be encouraging but it has the opposite effect. The thought that my precious baby may be dead already, the one person left who Peeta has biological ties to gone, makes me sick to my stomach and pointing out that I will never know for sure does nothing to help.

“I can’t Gale” I say. “I just can’t. It goes against all my instincts as a mother and I thought you of all people would understand.”

“What about your future children?”

“I’m not going to have any future children” I say.

“Yes you will. Think about them. Do you want them to grow up in a world that is free or do you want them to grow up in a world where the Hunger Games are the norm? Or something worse than the Hunger Games, even?”

 It’s a cheap shot but I see his point. There is nothing I can do to save Peeta’s and my child. All I can do is focus on the children who have yet to be born – whether they are my children or somebody else’s. We must all make sacrifices.

“Alright” I nod, regretting the words as they come out of my mouth but I can’t turn back now. “Alright, I’ll do it. I’ll be the Mockingjay. But I have conditions.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a little unimaginative to have the District 12 bombing happen here too. I chose to go with it because it's the simplest way of getting Gale, Prim and other District 12 characters to District 13 and because I was interested in how it might have affected Peeta if he had been in Thirteen when the news came that his entire family was dead. Suzanne Collins never gave us much information about how he took the loss of his family, possibly because he was hijacked and confused at the time. I thought it made for an interesting story angle.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and I aren't friends... I can't seem to get it to work the way I want it but I'm too lazy to be a perfectionist so I'm uploading it as is. It incorporates a lot of elements from "Mockingjay" but some are only briefly mentioned because I don't intend to re-tell that book (and couldn't even if I wanted to).

The ground still smoulders beneath my feet as I carefully step through the ruins of what was once District 12. Everywhere I look the sight is the same. Ashes, ruins, human remains. A whole district turned to dust. I have to be very careful where I step since there are parts of victims lying on the ground, having died when they tried to escape. Some were burned to death while others managed to find some shelter and probably died from smoke inhalation. It’s hard to know which is worse, the bones and burned fragments or the bodies in various stages of decomposition. It’s too much to take in all at once and too horrible to fathom. The Capitol did this to District 12 in retaliation for Hunger Games victors speaking a few simple truths and then leaving on a hovercraft. God only knows what they plan on doing in retaliation for whatever happens next.

I’m not alone. I wanted to go here by myself but I was overruled. President Coin thinks I might be more inclined to be the Mockingjay if I can see with my own eyes what President Snow has done, as if I didn’t know already, but they’re worried that something might happen to me if I’m down here by myself. So Gale went with me, walking just a step behind, which at least is better than a whole team of bodyguards. At first they offered Peeta to come but he declined, not ready to face the place where his family died. Gale volunteered in his place.

It’s not easy to tell where we are exactly. Most of the district has been burned and destroyed to the point where landmarks aren’t there anymore. We walk around aimlessly for a while, trying to get our bearings in the wasteland around us, hoping to find some familiar place in the rubble. Once we find the Justice Building, which stands fairly intact compared to everything else, we can begin to set out a course. I want to go to the bakery. I need to see with my own eyes that my in-laws aren’t there, that nobody is alive. As difficult as it will be it means closure.

When we get closer I can actually see the sign that reads “Bakery”. Somehow it survived, though it’s been damaged and the K and E are barely readable. This particular section of town seems to have been less badly hit than the rest, though all it means is that you can still make out vague signs of which house you’re looking at. I stop and take a breath.

“Gale if you don’t mind... I would like to go there alone.”

“Haymitch minds” comes my mentor’s voice through the earpiece I’m forced to wear. “You’re not going anywhere by yourself. That was the deal. I’m not telling the boy that along with being an orphan he’s now also a widower.”

Gale, whose earpiece receives but can’t transmit, rolls his eyes.

“Of course, its’ all about Peeta Mellark” he mutters. “All about the star-crossed lovers. Don’t you think it’s time to drop that act now?”

“Not now Gale” I say.

“All I’m saying is that nobody cares about your love story anymore so why waste energy on upholding the charade?”

I turn and give him a dark look.

“I’m going to go look at my in-laws’ house” I tell him. “Haymitch says you have to follow me. Do so without commenting. It’s difficult enough as it is.”

Carefully and hesitantly I approach the bakery. There are still parts of the top floor left but it is all charred and broken. Images flash through my mind, thoughts of what might have transpired here when the end came. Did they stay and hide? Did they try to flee? How much time did they have between realizing that something was going to happen and the bombs actually falling? Were they all together when it happened?

“I’m sorry” mumbles Gale behind me. “I didn’t mean to sound...”

He doesn’t finish the sentence and I don’t care if he does or not. We’ve reached the remains of the back door and I stand there in silence for a few minutes, mind full of memories. How can I tell Peeta about what I’m seeing? His childhood home destroyed. He has nothing left from this place, nothing to remember his family by.

“I should go inside” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper. “Bring something back for Peeta. Something for him to...”

“No” says Haymitch in my ear. “It’s not worth the risk. We don’t know if there’s anything left in there to bring him.”

“I’ll go in” says Gale.

I give him a small, relieved smile. From where I’m currently standing a wall shields the inside of the house from view and I haven’t yet dared to move past it to see what’s actually behind it. I doubt I would be able to set foot in the remains of that house for any reason, too afraid that the people who lived there might have died here and that I might see their bodies. Gale hands me his bow but keeps the quiver, pushing the remains of the door open with one hand even though he could just take a step to the left and walk where the wall no longer stands. He goes inside and I turn my face away, hating almost everyone in the world. I hate the Capitol for doing this. I hate Snow and his entire government and everyone in that damn city who cheered for the Hunger Games and saw our pain and our deaths as the pinnacle of entertainment. I hate District 13 for their part in this and for welcoming our fugitives with open arms but clear underlying intentions. I hate Haymitch for lying to Peeta and me for so many years, I hate Cinna for doing the same, I even hate my in-laws for not reacting sooner and getting themselves to safety.

While Gale is in the remains of the bakery I look over at the pigsty. It’s almost completely gone, just a few strains of wire left from the fence. To think that Peeta once stood there, eleven years old, throwing two loaves of bread to me. It seems like forever ago. So much has happened since then. We were just children and now we are adults. Back then every day was a fight for my own and my family’s survival and now every day is a fight for the majority of Panem’s survival. How did we end up in this place?

Gale comes back out after a few minutes, covered in ash and couching a little. I immediately turn my attention to what he’s brought.

“I didn’t know what to take” coughs Gale. “Hope this will do.”

He holds out his hand and I see an ocarina that belonged to Peeta’s younger brother. He used to play it sometimes in the evenings, often to his mother’s dismay. A smile appears on my face when I see it, memories of calm evenings in front of the fireplace playing before my eyes along with memories of the kindness of the ocarina’s owner. I used to hate how he always teased Peeta but as I got to know him Ryean became my second favourite in-law after Peeta’s father. The ocarina will do just fine. It will be special to Peeta.

“Thank you Gale” I say, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“They were good people” says Gale. “Good, kind-hearted people. I owe them a lot. Peeta, he saved your life in the arena. Mr. Mellark bought game from me for years even though I suspect he didn’t actually need it. He gave Rory a job. I owe them more than I can ever pay them back. I guess that’s why I have such a hard time stomaching Peeta.”

I nod slowly. I understand perfectly. I also understand that being indebted to him is not the only reason Gale has a hard time standing my husband but it doesn’t really matter. None of this has been easy on Gale.

“Anything you owe Peeta, you’ve repaid threefold” I say instead.

“You’d better get a move on” says Haymitch in my ear. “We don’t want you on the ground for too long, sweetheart.”

“Alright” I say, putting the ocarina in my pocket. “Alright Haymitch. We’re going to the Victor’s Village. Want me to see if I can find some of your white liquor?”

The last part was added in jest but Haymitch replies that he sure wouldn’t mind. They won’t let him drink in Thirteen and the booze he smuggled in will not last for more than another day or two. I’m not looking forward to seeing him in withdrawal.

“Why does he call you ‘sweetheart’?” asks Gale as we make our way through the ruins.

“I don’t know” I shrug.

“Sounds disrespectful. Like you’re a little kid or a Capitol skank or something.”

“I don’t mind it, Gale” I reply tiredly, hoping he won’t dwell on the topic.

Slowly we make our way through what is left of town and reach the Victor’s Village. It’s almost a relief to see that something survived yet it looks strangely out of place when all the rest of District 12 is destroyed. With Gale at my heels I walk inside my old house and gather a few things I know my mother and sister will want to have. Then we head over to my new house which looks just like it did when we left. Peeta’s baking utensils on the kitchen counter. My favourite blanket sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace. The paintings Peeta has made over the years and hung up on the wall. The place is oddly frozen in time, waiting for its owners to return home from the Capitol as we have done for the past three years.

“Do you want anything from here?” asks Gale.

“Yeah” I say. “My father’s hunting jacket and his herbal book. The book should be on the shelf over there and the jacket probably in the upstairs closet.”

Gale goes over to the bookshelf and grabs the book. He looks at it with a little smile, remembering it well even though he hasn’t seen it in years. Then he follows me through the kitchen to the staircase but he hesitates for a moment before he follows me upstairs. He’s never been there before. In a way it’s strange for me too to have him with me up there. It’s intimate, somehow, this part of the house where Peeta and I sleep. Where we make love. It’s a part of our life together that Gale doesn’t want to think about and I don’t want to think about Gale knowing about it. But Haymitch will object if I try going here alone, no matter how safe the Victor’s Village appears to be.

I walk inside the bedroom, ready to just go and grab the jacket and then be out of here. The sight of a beautifully crafted crib standing at the foot of the bed stops me in my tracks. I stare at it wordlessly for a minute until Haymitch demands to know what is going on.

“Nothing” I stammer. “Nothing. Just... Strange to be back, that’s all.”

I walk over to the crib, letting my hand caress the soft wood, admiring the handiwork. This must be Peeta’s brother’s doing. His oldest brother is very good at handling wood and always wanted to be a carpenter but never had the option to be, especially after Peeta left the family business. This crib is brand new, it’s easy to tell. He must have made it for us as a gift when he heard Peeta announce the pregnancy. Could that be it, though? He only had hours to live once that announcement had been made. No, he must have worked on this earlier, either assuming we would have a baby soon or saving it for whenever a baby would come along.

My eyes well up with tears. A lot of hours, talent, hard work and love went into making this. Did he talk about his plans for this crib the same way Peeta talked about his plans for Scotti’s wedding cake? The craftsmanship is so beautiful and infinitely more special than anything that could have been made in the Capitol. An uncle’s work for his niece or nephew. Work done in vain as there is no baby on the way. I will never put a baby down to nap in this crib and the son or daughter Peeta already has never got to be rocked to sleep in furniture crafted by his or her uncle.

Then I see it. I would have smelled it before but the stench of burning wood, ash and something else I don’t want to think about still fills my nose and conquers out any other smell. On the foot end of the crib sits a white rose. A message from President Snow.

Gale is with me in a heartbeat, just as I break down crying. His strong hands grab my shoulders and he kisses the top of my head as I cover my mouth with my hands, trying to keep my sobs from being heard by Haymitch. Then I realize it’s no use and let my hands fall.

“I can’t!” I say through my sobs. “I can’t do it! I can’t!”

“Katniss?” says Haymitch in my ear.

Gale rips the earpiece from my head and throws it on the ground, turns me around and pulls me close. I sob against his chest, full of emotions that I don’t know how to deal with. Most of all I’m afraid. What is Snow going to do to Peeta’s and my child?

“I can’t be the Mockingjay” I sniffle. “Look what he did, Gale. The message is clear. Step out of line and... and...”

“It’s a bluff, Katniss” soothes Gale. “Nothing has changed. He can’t do anything to your child. He’s just trying to scare you into submission.”

His words comfort me, if only by a little. Slowly I begin to calm down and I vaguely become aware of Haymitch’s voice yelling through Gale’s earpiece. He must be furious but I could care less right now. I’m too scared to know what to do from this point onward. It feels like I will be making a huge mistake no matter what I choose to do.

“It will be alright, Catnip” says Gale softly. “I promise you, President Snow can’t hurt your child. The adoption is your protection. He’s just trying to frighten you and you can’t let him. When has the Girl on Fire ever backed down from a challenge? When did the Mockingjay ever let Snow tell her what she could do or say? You’re the first one who openly stood up to him. You’re stronger than he is. He fears you, and he should.”

Something about the things he says begins to get through to me. I turn my head and look at the crib with the white rose. The man who built the crib is dead now. So is Madge Undersee and her family. So are more than seven thousand people from District 12, people who had done no wrong and committed no crimes. It’s sick and it’s wrong. If mine and Peeta’s child is still alive back in the Capitol is this the kind of world I want him or her to grow up in? A world where people get burned to death because somebody from their district spoke up against the Hunger Games?

I break free from Gale’s embrace and pick the earpiece back up. Haymitch is still yelling when I calmly speak, asking him to come and pick us up in the Victor’s Village. I have seen everything I need to see and my mind has been made up. Haymitch keeps barking at me while I walk over to the closet and grab the jacket but I barely hear a word of it. I’ve seen enough of District 12. I want to go back to Thirteen and be of use. I want to show President Snow and the rest of the people living in the Capitol that it is not okay. That it will not be tolerated. That we do not condone.

Before we leave the room I turn to look at the crib. I let the three middle fingers of my left hand touch my lips and hold it out to the beautiful piece of furniture. Then I follow Gale down the stairs and out the door where the hovercraft picks us up a few minutes later.

Haymitch opens his mouth to yell at me the moment I’m back on the hovercraft but I stop him in his tracks.

“Tell President Coin that I will be the Mockingjay under one condition.” I say. “I get to kill Coriolanus Snow.”

 

 

My news makes Haymitch temporarily forget his anger, though I get a stern lesson about removing my earpiece during the ride back to Thirteen. He then disappears to tell Coin the news while Gale and I head for our rooms to shower and change our clothes. We walk through one of the larger hallways to get to the elevators and Prim comes running up to me, having waited eagerly for our return.

“Katniss!” she cries. “Katniss, are you okay? How was it?”

“Oh, don’t ask me, little duck” I sigh. I know my sister is used to seeing suffering people and that she can handle it without being fazed but I don’t want her to have to know about the things that I saw. “It was horrible. I brought you some things, though. Some herbs I thought you might need and Father’s old book.”

To my surprise she looks disappointed.

“Is that all you got?” she asks.

“I took what matter most” I say.

“You didn’t find Buttercup?” asks Prim, her voice quivering.

“No” I say, nonplussed.

“Did you look for him everywhere? Sometimes he likes to sleep outside in the lavender bush. Did you put out some food for him to try and get him to come?”

“Prim...” I say. “We didn’t have time to look for him. He’s just a cat, Prim.”

The truth is I wouldn’t have stopped to look for him even if I had the time. It simply wouldn’t have crossed my mind. With all the death and destruction around us what did it matter if a scrawny old cat made it or not? Peeta has lost his entire family, and so have other people. I have a child hopelessly out of my reach but possibly within grasp of President Snow. Buttercup’s survival ranks so far down on my list of priorities that the very idea of having tried to find him is ludicrous but I don’t like seeing Prim upset and I reach forward to give her a hug. She backs away and turns, running instead to Peeta who I now notice is about ten yards away, having probably waited with Prim for me to return. She throws her arms around him and cries and I want to tell her sharply to leave him alone and go cry in Mother’s arms instead. He lost his entire family and she should be ashamed to seek comfort in him over a stupid cat. Gale’s hand in my arm stops me and I realize that I should just leave it alone. Peeta seems okay comforting her and if he doesn’t mind then there is no real harm done. We seem to have firmly rooted roles by now – Peeta is the one you turn to for comfort, I’m the one you turn to for brutal honesty. Brutal honesty was never what Prim needed in times of pain and sorrow so maybe it’s better that she finds solace with her brother-in-law but somewhere in my heart there is a sting of pain over my sister choosing to cry in Peeta’s arms instead of mine.

“Come on” says Gale, taking me out of my thoughts. “We need to shower and change. We’re wanted in Command.”

I nod and follow him towards the elevators. A shower sounds lovely, getting to wash the smell of what remains of District 12 off of me. There’s a thin layer of ash on my boots and at the bottom of my pant legs and I can’t wait to take them off and try to put it from my mind. We walk past my sister and husband and Peeta gives me a small, encouraging smile. At least I know he understands why I didn’t look for Buttercup. I want to give him the ocarina but now is not the time. I’ll hand it to him later, tonight, when we’re alone.

I won’t tell him about the crib. He may not be ready to hear about it right now and it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. There is no baby to lay in that crib on the way. I find it very unlikely that there ever will be. Right now I have to focus everything on believing Gale is right about Snow and my child.

 

 

It feels like a year rather than just a day has gone by when Peeta and I finally retreat to our room that evening. I’m tired, emotionally drained and physically spent. After the meeting I was taken down to see the bow created for the Mockingjay and the outfit Cinna has made for me, both of which exceeded my wildest expectations, then I trained with the new bow for hours. I need my rest, badly. Peeta has been in training too, though in a different department. His skills are with the knife and spear and while the latter may become useful in battle I’m not sure what they plan on him doing with the former. Hand-to-hand combat does not seem to be on the agenda.

He doesn’t ask me about District 12 as we get ready for bed. Either he doesn’t want to know about it or he thinks I’m not eager to talk about it. The truth is I’m not, the less said about it the better. We get under the covers and get ready to go to rest. Peeta rests his head on my chest and yawns, appearing to be as tired as I am. Suddenly I remember that I have something for him and tell him as much.

“From home?” asks Peeta questioningly as I get out of bed and walk over to the chair I threw my pants over.

“Yes” I say.

He looks at me questioningly, resting on his elbow while I rummage through my pockets. I find the ocarina and bring it over to him, holding it out in my hand. He sits up and takes it gently between his fingers, studying it carefully.

“Ryean’s” he says.

I nod and sit next to him on the small cot. Peeta examines it carefully, turning it in his fingers, looking at it like a long lost treasure. I suppose that’s what it is to him. Something that belonged to his brother that he never thought he would see again. It’s completely surreal to think that this small ceramic instrument is all that remains of the ashen haired young man with the teasing smirk.

Peeta looks up at me with a mixture of sadness, sentimentality and gratitude. My own emotions are something similar. The pain in his eyes makes my chest tighten a little but the thought of what this item of Ryean’s means to him makes me feel grateful that it occurred to me to try and find something to bring back for him.

“Thank you” he says.

“It was actually Gale who got it” I say.

“He’s a good guy” says Peeta. “I owe him a lot.”

I smile slightly.

“I think your debts to one another cancel each other out.”

Peeta looks at the ocarina again, like he wants to commit every detail to memory. Then he places a hand on my cheek and leans in to give me a tender kiss. I feel the hunger rising in me at his touch but I know he’s not in the mood for that right now. I settle for taking the ocarina and placing it carefully on the chair that serves as nightstand, then stealing another couple of kisses before we get under the covers again. We lay face to face, my legs intertwined with his, arms around each other. It feels comforting and reassuring. Whatever happens in the future at least I’ve got Peeta. Gale can say whatever he wants but I have no desire for anything to change between my husband and me. We’ve been bound together for life and one of the upsides to marriage is having somebody there to share your burdens with when they’re too heavy for you to carry by yourself. Right now I gladly hold on to anything that reminds me of home and the way things were before all hell broke loose.

“Was it horrible?” asks Peeta in a whisper.

“Yes.”

“Was it the sight of it that made you decide to be the Mockingjay?”

“Partially that.”

He nods.

“As long as you feel alright with it then I think you can do wonders.” A thoughtful expression appears on his face. “You know, people are going to start to wonder when the months go by and you don’t become visibly pregnant” he says and for a moment I think he’s leading in to having sex. “They’re also going to find it strange that you would take on the role of Mockingjay in a gravid condition. We should discuss it with Haymitch. Come up with a cover story.”

“Sure” I agree.

“Maybe after all of this is over...” he says softly, running a hand through my hair, “we won’t have to be so scared of having children.”

My mouth suddenly feels dry.

“Would you want to have children?” I ask.

He makes an apologetic face.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s not what you want. Or that it was ever part of the deal, really.”

“No” I say. “It’s fine. I mean, I... don’t want to have children. Too many worries. I don’t even know if I would be any good at it. Other people can, though, and that’s really the whole point, isn’t it? For those who want children to be able to have them and not worry that they might get Reaped.” I think about when I had just discovered I was pregnant and the same fear I felt then grips my heart. “Nothing is more frightening than picturing your child being reaped for the Games.”

Peeta nods, assuming I’m speaking in general terms, and yawns. He’s quite tired, too, having spent several hours in training and then all the emotions that came with the ocarina. We share a goodnight kiss and then close our eyes, waiting for sleep to come. My dreams are haunted by the sights I have seen during the day and by the image of Snow standing by the crib with my dead baby in his arms and a smirk on his face. Even in my sleep it’s like I can feel the smell of blood and roses.

I wake up clinging to Peeta, who has woken up from me pinching him with my tight grip. He soothes me and holds me till I’m calm enough to go back to sleep.

 

 

The training they put us through is gruelling. I thought I was in good shape but clearly I was mistaken because I constantly find myself having to push through the pain, fighting to keep my breath and collapsing in bed at night, too tired to even care that I left the candle burning and Peeta has to lean over me to snuff it out. I thought I was going to be teamed up with Gale for training but while I was supporting Peeta through the first days after his family’s death Gale moved ahead of me in the training regime. My next assumption was that I would be teamed up with Peeta but instead I find myself forced to train together with Johanna Mason while Peeta trains with Salvia Smith, even though she’s still so traumatized from her time in the arena and her escape that it’s anyone’s guess if she’ll be able to fight at all. I think in her case training is mostly meant to be a distraction.

Johanna Mason is for the most part nothing but annoying and more often than not she is sullen or hostile but little by little I begin to appreciate her dry sense of humour and get a better understanding of her. Then, after the first two weeks of intense physical training, they split us up. Now that they are content with my level of physical fitness it’s finally time for me to train with the bow and for that I get to be partners with Gale. It’s the most enjoyable time I’ve spent in District 13, even though it’s a lot of hard work and quite different from hunting game in the woods. I miss being outdoors to the point where it almost makes my skin crawl but I didn’t think to put hunting on my list of demands to be the Mockingjay and it’s too late for me to change my mind now.

Every now and then we’re called from training to participate in meetings. They shoot propos with me which air all over Panem thanks to Beetee cutting in on the Capitol’s feed. They air commemorative videos of fallen tributes. A lot of things happen that I’m not even aware of but it’s clear that everybody is working hard to make this revolution a success.

Before we can move towards the Capitol we need to be victorious in District 2. It is the district most loyal to the Capitol and it’s also where the majority of the peacekeepers and soldiers come from. I’m barely involved in the planning as Haymitch makes it clear that a strategic genius I am not. Gale sits in on a few meetings and also begins to spend more time with Beetee working on weapons. I don’t want to be too involved in those parts of the rebellion. I’ll use my weapon without hesitation and I’ve created more than one bow in my lifetime but I can’t get comfortable with the idea of creating weapons specifically to kill people.

“It’s for the greater good” assures me Gale as we walk together towards the medical ward to see if Prim wants to have lunch with us. “These people we will be fighting work for the Capitol. They are the ones who have oppressed us, the ones who made you fight in the arena. I won’t cry over their deaths and neither should you.”

“That doesn’t mean we should kill as many as we can” I argue. “Peeta thinks we can turn some of them over to be on our side.”

“Everyone willing to fight for the rebellion already _is_ on our side” Gale points out. “Cinna, Plutarch, Castor... Nobody else will turn at this point.”

“We don’t know that” I counter. “Others might be willing to join our cause. People who haven’t thought about it before but now that the rebellion is happening...”

“We don’t _want_ those people” snorts Gale.

“Gale!” I say. “We want anyone who will be on our side. Isn’t the whole point of the propos to get people to see things our way?”

Our argument comes to a halt as we reach the medical ward. We stop outside the glass windows and wait for Prim to notice us, not wanting to walk inside and bother the patients. Not a lot of people are being treated here, just a few people who got hurt during the escape from Twelve along with a handful of people who have gotten wounded in training. There’s also a few people suffering from colds, migraines and other minor afflictions. I also note that Peeta is there, sitting on one of the beds with a plastic sheet underneath his legs, lifting rags from a bowl of steaming hot water and placing them on the empty space below his left knee.

“What is he doing?” asks Gale.

“It helps him with the pain” I tell him, used to seeing it.

“But there’s nothing there” says Gale, dumbfounded.

“He feels pain sometimes where his leg used to be” I explain. “It’s weird and he can’t really describe it to me but it helps him to put warm cloth where his leg would be.”

“And I thought I had weird habits” mumbles Gale, though he doesn’t seem to be mocking Peeta.

“Prim usually helps him with this stuff” I continue. “They have a few other tricks as well... The whole hot rags thing was his own idea, or maybe they taught him in the Capitol, I don’t know. Prim thought it was interesting and she’s tried to figure out other things that might work.”

“Hey how... How is Peeta these days?” asks Gale. He looks like it’s a little awkward to ask the question but he seems to genuinely mean the concern.

“Better. Training keeps him occupied. It’s not been easy but he knows he has to focus on what’s ahead.”

“You know, I feel terrible” says Gale, looking over at Peeta through the glass wall. “His family helped keep food on our table and I didn’t get them out. I can’t imagine what he must think of me... To top it off I spend a lot more time with you than he does these days, I mean...”

It’s not often Gale surprises me but right now I’m taken aback. It’s almost endearing seeing him this awkward and insecure about this.

“Peeta has nothing against you, if that’s what you’re worried about” I tell him.

“If he does he’s not going to tell you” argues Gale. “You’re my best friend.”

“Yeah” I say with a little smile. “I’m also his wife and I know him pretty well.”

For once Gale doesn’t make a face at the mentioning of my marriage. Instead he gets a determined look on his face, pushes the doors open and walks into the medical ward. I follow him, not quite sure what he plans on doing.

It’s strange being inside the medical ward. It smells different, it’s calm and quiet and it’s like there’s a different atmosphere in there. People move and act differently, somehow. Gale and I must stick out like sore thumbs but strangely nobody seems to look up or pay attention to us. Certainly not Peeta, who is so focused on what he’s doing that Gale reaches his bedside before he looks up.

“Hey” he says, surprised at first before he sees that I’m there too. “You guys didn’t get hurt in training, did you?”

“No, we’re fine” says Gale. “Listen, Peeta...” He looks around for a second, then his eyes land on the plastic sheet with the hot rags. He then looks up at Peeta with a face that seems troubled. “I’m sorry. About your family. Really, really sorry.”

Peeta nods sadly, picking up one of the rags and putting it in the bowl to soak it up again. Steam is rising from the bowl and I don’t understand how he can stand to touch the rags when they’ve been soaked in the hot water. Perhaps it’s because he’s a baker and it used to touching hot items. Whatever the reason it only seems to bring him mild discomfort.

“It’s okay” he says. To me his voice sounds strained but I doubt Gale, or anyone else who might be listening, picks up on it. “Not your fault.”

“Your father was a good man” says Gale. “Rory talked about him a lot. He was so grateful to have that job. You must really hate me for not getting them out.”

“Why would I hate you?” asks Peeta genuinely.

“I should have gotten them out. They helped us survive winter and I didn’t help them get to safety when the bombs began to fall.”

“What could you have done?” asks Peeta, wringing the rag and making a face when he leans forward and places it around where his ankle would have been. “It wasn’t your fault that the bombs came. There are almost a thousand people from District 12 alive today thanks to you. What more could you have done? I don’t feel any resentment towards you.”

I can’t help but smile, glad that he has such a good heart. If it were me I don’t know if I could have been as forgiving even if Gale had been absolutely powerless to save my family. Gale mumbles an apology anyway and Peeta assures him that it’s not necessary. It almost feels like a private moment between them that I should not be a witness to. I turn my attention to Prim who finally noticed us and wants to come have lunch with us. I offer Peeta to join us but he declines.

“I want to stay here for a while longer, soak some more rags” he says. “I can have my lunch served here since the leg treatments qualify me as a patient.”

“Alright” I say, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “See you later, then.”

He nods and gives a little wave, still focused on his rags. Together with Prim and Gale I leave the medical ward and head towards the mess.

“You know what really bothers me about him?” sighs Gale. “He’s too damn nice. It would be much easier if I could hate him.”

“You know, I had the exact same thought myself once...” I mumble in reply, casting a glance over my shoulder even though I can’t see Peeta anymore.

 

 

That evening Peeta and I sit with Haymitch in his room for a while, talking about how our training is progressing and how the plans for the rebellion are coming along. Haymitch seems troubled and neither Peeta nor I can understand why.

“So far it’s going good, isn’t it?” asks Peeta. “We’re getting the propos out there, several districts are behind us, they’re devising a strategy to take Two...”

“It’s going a little _too_ good” mutters Haymitch, who just yesterday got out from the medical ward where he’s been treated for alcohol withdrawal. For a while there Peeta was concerned for his sake. For my own part I had little sympathy, still feeling betrayed by him for having gone behind our backs all these years and cross with him for the things he said the night we learned about Peeta’s family. Haymitch gives Peeta a look and scratches his unshaven chin. “Haven’t you learned by now that when things seem too good to be true they usually are?”

“What are you saying?” I ask.

"How can they be too good to be true when all of District 12 has been destroyed?” counters Peeta, pulling up his good leg underneath him on the cot where he sits.

“That’s just it, boy. They haven’t done anything to us since the bombing. None of the other districts have even been hit that hard. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?”

“Maybe” I frown. “Unless they’re biding their time, waiting for us to make our next move and get us then.”

“That’s not the way they play the game, sweetheart” says Haymitch. He makes a displeased face. “No, trust me on this. They’re going to do something and they’re going to do it soon.”

With that thought in our head neither Peeta nor I can go to sleep easily that night. We both toss and turn for a while, which is quite the feat given how small our cot is. Eventually we do drift off to sleep, Peeta’s arm wrapped around my waist and his face buried in my neck while my legs are both out of the comforter.

We haven’t slept for long when a piercing alarm wakes us up. The sound is so loud and disturbing that it makes my heart pound in my chest.

“What is it?” asks Peeta, sitting up straight. “What’s going on?”

“The alarms are going off” I say needlessly, throwing the comforter to the side. “We need to get down to the shelters. Right now. You remember what they told us in one of those first meetings we had? About the drills?”

“This is no drill” replies Peeta in a tone that sends chills down my spine.

I fling my legs over the side of the bed and reach for his prosthetic. He fumbles with getting it on and before he’s done there’s a pounding on our door. I open it and Haymitch, fully dressed and looking like he hasn’t slept a wink, gives us an urgent wave of his hand.

“Didn’t I tell you?” he cries. “I knew it was bound to happen soon. Hurry or we won’t get down there in time. Peeta for crying out loud!”

Peeta gets his leg on properly and takes my outreached hand. I pull him up on his feet, grab the bag I hastily filled with clothes, my father’s book and the ocarina and then hurry out in the hallway following Peeta and Haymitch. To my surprise there’s no chaos out in the corridor. Even the people from District 12 seem to know exactly where to go and what to do. The orange blinking lights seem to make everybody nervous and the piercing alarm urges people to move faster but the entire evacuation happens in an orderly fashion.

“Haymitch what exactly is it?” I ask.

“I don’t know” he replies, banging on the call button for the elevator. “Bombs, most likely. Coin was convinced they wouldn’t bother to bomb us but I’m not so sure. Whatever it is we don’t want to be up here when it hits.”

“How much time?” I ask.

“The radar is supposed to detect any incoming aircraft with about Twenty minutes to spare but it depends on how fast the flyers are.”

“Shit” I mumble. Twenty minutes is not a lot of time. I think of my mother and sister. If they were working in the medical ward tonight they would be escorted down with the rest of the people there but I know they’re in their own rooms, sleeping. “You and Peeta go down to the shelters. I need to find my mother and Prim.”

“You’ll do no such thing” barks Haymitch. “The Mockingjay goes down to the shelters. Your role is not yet done and right now you need to set an example. Peeta can go, though I’m not wild about that either.”

“No” I object, casting a worried look at Peeta who still looks a bit groggy. He’s not going to move fast enough right now and I fail to see how things will be any better if I have my husband in danger along with my mother and sister. “Haymitch it has to be me. The Mockingjay is not going to sing if her family is gone.”

The elevator doors open and Peeta grabs me by the shoulders, shoving me inside the car and pressing me against the back wall. It quickly fills up with people, blocking my exit. Before I can begin to scream at him he looks me in the eye and calms me.

“There is no way Gale will leave them behind” he says. “Look at me! You know this.”

I realize that he’s right and slowly nod my head. Still it doesn’t stop me from worrying. I trust Gale with my life and I know he wouldn’t leave them behind any sooner than he’d leave Posy or Vick but I would feel better if I could see with my own eyes that they were heading down to the shelters. Peeta pulls me in for a hug and I try to suppress a sob.

“If you go off to look for them you’ll only put yourself at risk” says Haymitch calmly. “They are probably on the elevators already. You would be running around the hallways looking for them until the bombs hit.”

I nod against Peeta’s chest. Of course Haymitch is right. He usually is. I guess I’ll know within a few minutes whether or not they got on the elevators.

Down in the shelters we find out assigned space and my heart sinks down to the soles of my shoes. It’s bad enough that the whole place feels like a sterile, unwelcoming cave. Peeta and I have been assigned to share our space with my family and I didn’t expect luxury of any kind but I at least assumed there would be enough room for all of us. Our allotted space has two cots, one above the other, and the one on top clearly only has room for one. In fact it will be a stretch to fit two people in the lower one. The four of us won’t all be able to sleep on these cots and it angers me that District 13 didn’t think to account for the fact that four people need more space than this. Usually they’re able to maximise the use of every single space or item but in this case they were far too stingy even by their own standards.

“We’ll have to take turns sleeping on the floor” I say.

“No” says Peeta. “I’ll go bunk with Haymitch.”

I give him an incredulous look.

“He snores. And you’ll have to share a tiny cot.”

“I’ll survive it” says Peeta with a hint of a smile.

I don’t like the idea of him bunking elsewhere and grab his hand.

“Don’t leave me. Not until my family gets here, at least.”

He nods and we sit down together on the bottom cot, reading the instructions for what to do in these situations. In accordance with the instructions we go to the Supply Station and get four packs. Each contains a thin mattress, bedding, two sets of clothes and some hygiene products. Then we just wait. It’s been mere minutes since we’ve been down here but it feels like hours until one of the elevators finally opens to reveal my mother, Prim, Gale and everyone in his family. I call out to Prim and she hurries over, running into my embrace. My mother joins us and I meet Gale’s eyes, mouthing a “thank you”. I know he went and found them and made sure they got down safely. He smiles, nods and follows his family to their assigned quarters. Then the lights go out, gasps and screams fill the darkness and a loud boom is heard. The lights flicker back on and Prim holds me tighter.

“I should go” says Peeta. “While we still have lights.”

I want to tell him to stay but I don’t know what to say to convince him. There’s not room for a fourth person. Pointing out that I have his bag of clothes doesn’t seem like a very strong argument in light of that, especially since he’s already grabbed the supplies from his pack.

“Be safe” is all I can manage after he kisses me goodbye.

“I’ll see you when it’s over” he says. He tousles Prim’s hair, nods to my mother and then leaves just as the second boom shakes the district.

 

 

I spend the night on the bottom cot, sharing it with Prim. My mother wanted me to take the top cot but I refused. I’ve shared a bed for so long that the thought of sleeping alone makes me uncomfortable, especially at a time like this. So I lie there in the darkness, listening to the booms of bombs, holding my little sister for comfort. It feels weird to do so. Prim is not a child anymore, she’s a young woman. She doesn’t need me to hold her in the night, it’s just for my benefit. I really miss Peeta’s warm body curled up next to mine, his steady breathing, the knowledge that if I have a nightmare he will be there to soothe me. Having Prim near is nice too but it’s not the same.

“Can you sleep?” whispers Prim suddenly.

“No” I say.

“Are you scared?”

“A little” I admit.

“Do you wish Peeta was here?”

I can’t help but smile a little. It’s strange hearing my baby sister talk about things like that as if she would understand them but I suppose that at this age she would. I can’t help but wonder how much she thinks she knows about Peeta and me. She knows I wasn’t sure how I felt about him when we married and I’m not sure now either, almost three years down the road. That doesn’t mean I don’t miss him when he’s not around or that I don’t think about him a lot. I’ve grown accustomed to having him nearby and it feels like we’re partners in almost every way. We did exactly what we said we would do that night on the train, exactly what I suggested the night of our wedding. We’ve made the best of things and we’re trying to be as happy as we can be. And I have been happy, in spite of the scars I carry from the Games and the oppression from Snow and his government and the loss of my child which pains me every single day. Come to think of it, some of the times I’ve shared with Peeta have been among the better of my life.

“I do a little” I say. “I’ve been having him near for years now.”

“Are you going to break Gale’s heart?” asks Prim.

“What?” I ask with a frown.

“He’s still in love with you, you know. If the rebellion succeeds you won’t be forced to be with Peeta anymore. You can choose for yourself.”

I try to think of a way to answer but come up short. I hadn’t even thought about that, though I guess Gale has been dropping a few hints lately. If the rebellion succeeds then it is my choice who I want to be with but it’s not as simple as that. I’m still Peeta’s wife and the rebellion won’t change that. I’m not sure if I want it to, if I want to be Gale’s instead, or anybody’s at all.

“I try not to think about it” I say after a moment of silence. “It seems like bad luck to plan our futures. We don’t know yet if the rebellion will succeed.”

“But you think it will, right?”

“I don’t know, Prim.”

“If it does, District 13 is going to train me to be a doctor” she says and I can hear the pride and excitement in her voice.

“I’m not surprised” I reply, even though I am a little. “You’d be amazing at it.”

My sister having the ability to become a doctor. It’s more than I could have ever hoped for. Right now I’m both happy and proud to be the Mockingjay, to be a part of helping Prim’s dreams come true. She can have a better future, in fact she can have any future she chooses. It’s what I sacrificed motherhood for to be able to give to my baby. For a moment I forget all about the bombs and the insecurity of the rebellion and share in my sister’s excitement.

We lie there together for probably an hour, Prim telling me all about the plans Thirteen has for her and what she hopes to do once she’s completed her training. It’s amazing to be to listen to somebody so full of hope for the future. When did I ever feel that way myself? Did I ever even have a hopeful future? It seems my thoughts of the future have always been about fighting to put food on the table, winning the Hunger Games and marrying Peeta to preserve the peace and save my family. Prim has none of those concerns and for the first time in a long while I feel truly good about tomorrow.

 

 

The next morning we’re not allowed up to our usual quarters since they fear more bombs will fall. This means we’re stuck down in the shelters with nothing much to do. I expect Peeta to come over and spend the day but he only stops by to eat breakfast with us and then returns to his quarters with Haymitch. I’m not sure what that is about but I’m feeling annoyed with him for leaving me and I plainly refuse to ask him to stay because I can’t admit to wanting him here. If he thinks it’s okay to be apart then I’m not going to be clingy.

Instead, to my surprise, I get a visit from Johanna Mason. She throws herself down next to me on the bunk and looks around, noticing the absence of Peeta.

“Hey there, Katniss” she says. “Where’s your sweet-Peet?”

The look on my face must be hilarious because she bursts out laughing when she sees it.

“I don’t call him that” I say, voice full of indignation.

“Then what pet names do you use?” asks Johanna with a teasing grin. “I can think of a few baking related ones that would be just adorable. Or maybe those are his pet names for you?”

“We do fine without pet names” I snarl.

“My oh my...” grins Johanna. “The star-crossed lovers don’t have pet names for each other? That’s disappointing. What would Plutarch say? It’s not as marketable when you’re not sickeningly sweet with one another.”

“What do you want, Johanna?” I ask.

“To pass the time by bothering you.”

“Go bother Peeta and Haymitch.”

“Can’t” says Johanna. “They’re meeting with Plutarch and Finnick and a couple of others.”

“About what?” I ask, wondering why neither she nor I have been invited.

“Who cares?” shrugs Johanna. “If it were imperative to our noble cause they would have summoned us. It’s probably just guy talk and honestly, that’s not something you’d want to listen in on.” She looks me up and down and then grins again. “I must compliment you on that warm glow of pregnancy you seem to ooze at every turn. It’s especially complimentary when you’re running an exercise track or wielding a weapon. I’m perfectly serious. Why should an able-bodied woman not partake in the rebellion just because she’s got the baker’s bun in her oven?”

I can’t tell if she’s being serious or if she’s teasing me. I assumed all the victors and everyone else carrying a communicuff knew that the pregnancy was just a ruse. I contemplate pretending to be nauseous to get her to leave but for some reason I enjoy her company. It’s tedious and annoying but there’s something about Johanna that interests me and either way it’s better than to be all alone while my mother and sister are off at the makeshift medical ward.

“So how long before you make it official that you’re _not_ pregnant?” she then asks, sounding a touch more serious.

“So you knew” I conclude.

“I do now” she says but her smile is more friendly than teasing. “I figured you _were_ but that all the stress around you caused you to lose it. Makes sense that you wouldn’t want to be the Mockingjay while pregnant but once the baby was lost... It’s as good a reason as any to want to see Snow dead and be the one who put him in that state.”

The kindness in her tone takes me off guard. I’ve seen glimpses of it before but only briefly and usually when she’s been at the Game Headquarters advocating for one of her tributes. Her default mood is otherwise surly, dry and sometimes downright hostile. In moments like these I think I could really like Johanna Mason and not just tolerate her. I can definitely relate to her. She has a wall up, just like I do, and fears letting people in because it makes you vulnerable. I wonder if she would have been less rough around the edges, less borderline insane, if she had had someone like Peeta who survived her Games with her. Johanna is what I could have become if it wasn’t for Peeta Mellark.

“There was never a baby” I admit to her, pulling my legs up on the cot and wrapping my arms around them. For some reason she seems like a person I can tell this to. “I mean... We pretended. Peeta pretended. To win sympathies and cause a stir.”

“Well played” nods Johanna. “Then why refuse to be the Mockingjay?”

I take a moment before I answer.

“It’s not Snow’s way to punish those who disobey him. He punishes those you care about instead. I could be the Mockingjay without hesitation if I was the only one who would suffer for it but when innocent people that I love are at risk...”

Her eyes trail in the direction of where Peeta and Haymitch bunk. They are in section G while my mother and sister and I have our space in section D which means you can’t actually see their space but I know exactly which way it is.

“You’re lucky to have Peeta” Johanna says.

“I know” I nod with a hint of a smile.

“He loves you. You have that man’s complete devotion. I admit I’ve often wondered why. You’ve never seemed very agreeable to me, having been made alluring and desirable through Cinna’s handiwork and Peeta’s affections. I never got what all the fuss was about. I could tell from the first moment that you didn’t feel the same way he did about you. I don’t think you do now either but who am I to judge? Just be glad you’ve got him.”

“What about your loved ones?” I ask, wanting to change the subject from my feelings for Peeta. “Are they here? Will they be brought here from District 7 when things start to heat up?”

“That’s the difference between us, Mockingjay...” says Johanna, her voice now cold. “There’s no one left that I love.” She gets up from the cot and gives me a look. “If you love him then keep him safe. Remember that you are the lucky ones. You have each other. The rest of us were never granted luxuries like that.”

She walks away and I think about what she said. What did Snow do to her loved ones? Why? I don’t understand what she might have done to incur the wrath of the president. At least it explains why she is the way she is. If I had lost everyone I loved I wouldn’t be half as functional as her.

On an impulse I walk over to the bag I brought and search through it until I find the ocarina. I take it back to the bunk and look at it for a moment, pondering learning how to play it to pass the time. It seems wrong to do that. It belonged to someone in my family who is gone forever.

I hold the ocarina in my hand and wait for my mother and Prim to come back from the medical station or for us to be allowed to go back up. There are people all around me but somehow I feel very lonely.

 

 

That night more bombs begin to fall. Prim somehow manages to fall asleep, exhausted from the long day and no longer fearing that every bomb might bring the roof down on us. I can’t find the same peace of mind nor the same exhaustion. I miss Peeta’s body next to mine. I miss knowing that he will be there to comfort me if I have a nightmare. I’ve barely seen him all day and I’m not used to that. As the bombs keep falling my nerves keep getting more and more spent and finally I can’t take it anymore. I get out of bed, careful not to wake Prim, and quietly search to find the flashlight allotted to me. I won’t be popular if I try and use it in the middle of the night but I don’t care. A lot of people won’t be sleeping anyway as long as the bombs keep falling.

Deciding to only use the flashlight if I have to I make my way through the cavern to where Haymitch and Peeta are sleeping. With my fingers I feel my way from compartment to compartment until I’m fairly sure I’m at the right one. The snoring might be Haymitch but it could also be any number of people. I quickly switch the flashlight on and off, directing it to the floor, hoping to see Peeta’s prosthetic leg.

“Hey!” comes Peeta’s voice from the darkness. “Can’t sleep either?”

I’m a little startled hearing that he’s awake but when he sits up and reaches for the prosthetic I can’t help but smile.

“Prim is not as good a bed partner as you” I claim. “She hogs the blankets.”

 “Must run in the family.”

 He gets up, grabs the blanket from the sleeping Haymitch and takes my arm in the darkness. There’s not really any place for us to go since every cot is taken up by a sleeping person but Peeta seems to know the surroundings better than I do and leads me to a nook in the wall that can be used as a bench. He sits down, motions for me to join him, and when I’m leaned back against his chest he pulls the blanket around us to keep us warm. Another boom comes from above, making the walls vibrate. I feel a little less frightened.

“Do you think the bombs can reach us down here?” I ask in a whisper.

“No” answers Peeta, who I know pays much more attention in weapons class than I do.

“Do you think everybody made it down here in time?”

“No.”

I shiver a little and he pulls me closer. I lean my head back and sigh. If this is just the beginning of the rebellion, how bad will it get before the end?

“I told Johanna Mason I was never pregnant” I say.

“Super. Now she’ll never stop teasing me about never ‘getting any’.”

“You get plenty” I say, giving him a sly smile over my shoulder.

“Do you want to play it that way?” he asks, completely serious. “Simply tell people it was a lie? Could be easier than pretending to have had a miscarriage. Everyone who is high ranking in the rebellion already know it’s a lie anyway.”

I think back to the crib sitting in our bedroom back at home. Then I think of the child I bore three years ago.

“No” I say. “If people want to believe in our love story then... I mean, telling them that we lied about being pregnant... Let them think it was real. What’s the harm in that? It might even garner more sympathies and help bring people over to our side.”

“The star-crossed lovers of District 12 lost their baby thanks to the Capitol” says Peeta like it’s a headline. “Sure, could work.”

He kisses me on the side of my head and I close my eyes, feeling very tired all of a sudden. I could go to sleep like this, no problem at all. In fact I do, enclosed by Peeta’s arms and the blanket. Then an especially loud boom wakes me up again, along with a few others if the gasps around us are anything to go by.

“It’s getting late” mumbles Peeta into my hair. It doesn’t sound like he’s been sleeping. “Or early, depending on your viewpoint. Feeling any better?”

“Yeah” I nod.

“We should probably get back to our beds” says Peeta.

I have no desire to do that but I suppose Haymitch would be getting cold in the raw cavern air without his blanket and Peeta should get some sleep as well. Very reluctantly I untangle myself from the blanket and from Peeta and get up on my feet. Peeta stands and wraps the blanket around my shoulders, leading me back towards his quarters. When we reach his cot he stops and sighs. Our eyes have gotten adjusted to the dark and we can see Haymitch sprawling out over the cot, both his feet sticking out over the side, effectively leaving no room for Peeta. Peeta takes the blanket from my shoulders and covers Haymitch with it then shrugs.

 “I’ll sleep on the floor, then.”

“Then you’re sleeping on the floor with me” I decide. “Come on.”

I take his hand and lead him back towards my own quarters. Halfway there I stop in my tracks, Peeta walking right into me and mumbling an “ow”. I nudge his shoulder and point towards the couple lying closely together on one of the cots in section F.

“Finnick and Annie?” I whisper with bewilderment.

“You really don’t pay attention to Headquarters gossip, do you?” notes Peeta and yawns. “It’s been going on since forever.”

“You mean since her Games?”

“Bed, Katniss” yawns Peeta.

He walks ahead of me and pulls me along with him. When we get to our quarters neither Prim nor my mother have woken up to notice that I’ve been gone. There’s certainly room to lie down next to Prim but it seems unkind to leave Peeta alone on the floor. We’ve slept on the ground together before but the concrete floor down here is not only hard but ice cold and I can’t imagine getting a good night’s sleep there even with the thin mattress from my pack which now rests against the wall.

“Peeta” I say. “Go back and get that blanket.”

He has a different idea and rummages through the bag I brought, creating makeshift bed linen out of our clothes and a pillow out of putting Prim and Mother’s clothes in the bag. He lies down and I get down there with him, shivering in the cold. I sit back up, find my father’s hunting jacket which I left on the foot of the cot, and lie back down again. With Peeta as my pillow I wrap the jacket over us as best I can, positioning myself to lie as much on top of him as possible without getting too uncomfortable. Sharing our body heat should help us fall asleep.

“We’re not doing this another night” remarks Peeta. “Especially not without an additional mattress and the bedding from my pack.”

“Where _is_ the bedding from your pack?”

“I’ll have to ask Haymitch.”

He shifts a little and I do the same. The mattress does very little to cushion the concrete floor but at least it keeps us a little warmer.

“So” I say, no longer as sleepy and uncharacteristically curious. “Finnick and Annie?”

“For years, Katniss.”

“Since she was a tribute?” I ask. Romances between tributes and mentors are strictly forbidden, though it’s not like it really matters since only one in twenty-four tributes survives.

“Since the year after, I think” answers Peeta. “They lived next door to each other in the Victor’s Village. She was a mess. He looked after her.”

“Must have been some pretty effective looking-after.”

“It’s love.”

“But he’s slept with countless women in the Capitol!” I object. “If you had done that there’s no way I would believe you loved me. Or let you hold me at night, for that matter.”

“We don’t know what goes on between them” argues Peeta. “Or what Finnick’s motivations are. He’s a good guy, Katniss.”

“I know” I nod, surprising myself a little. I’ve never had reason to like, or even trust him. During our time here in Thirteen I’ve seen other sides of him though and against my own wishes I’ve begun to like him. “Why do you suppose he keeps up with all those Capitol women?” I ask after a moment’s pause. “Why not just be with Annie? People would love that. The Capitol audience would eat it up. Look at what happened with us! December 31st is now the by far most popular wedding date in the Capitol, every time we give an interview it’s replayed over and over again, I’ve even heard _songs_ written about us. Wouldn’t it be the same for Finnick and Annie?”

“The golden boy and the girl who lost her mind? No, I don’t think it would be as easy. Nor do I think the Capitol would like to lose their favourite plaything.”

There’s an undercurrent in his voice that suggests he knows more than he is letting on. I decide not to ask any questions about it. If he wants to keep a secret then he can. It’s not my business anyway, not really. Though it does bring to mind what Johanna said to me earlier.

“Do you suppose there are other lovers among victors?” I ask.

“None that I know of. Why?”

“Something Johanna said... In fact, something several people, including Finnick, said on the day we got married.”

“What did they say?”

“That we are lucky, you and me.”

He chuckles. His chest, my pillow, vibrates.

“Of course we are. We have each other. Someone who lived the same nightmare.” He yawns and shifts a little. “That’s why we’re lucky.”

“Yes, we have each other” I reply. “While the real star-crossed lovers, the ones from District 4, are kept apart. Typical Capitol irony, isn’t it? They eat up what’s make-believe but they frown at the real deal.”

Peeta doesn’t answer me and sighs wearily, ready to sleep. I close my eyes and try to sleep as well, ignoring both the hard floor beneath us and the way the walls shake from the bombs exploding above us. Peeta shifts a little beneath me, then sighs heavily before falling asleep. The rhythmic breathing that makes his chest rise and fall and the steady beating of his heart just under my ear soothes me and makes me feel like everything, just for this moment, is quite alright. As I predicted the heat from his body helps keep me warm and right before I go to sleep my mind drifts to those nights in the cave many years ago and how hot he was from his fever. We truly had the odds against us those days in the arena, him being so sick and me being so powerless to help him. If we could survive that then surely we can survive what is to come as well.

I sleep for about an hour and then I wake up from another nightmare about my child. I must have been still and quiet in my bad dream for once because Peeta hasn’t been woken up as well. I lay there for a while and study his face, trying to imagine if our child has his features or mine and what that child looks like during sleep. No bombs are falling but the raw air and feeling of confinement makes me uneasy and makes Gale’s earlier reassurances seem far less comforting. His reasoning hinges on Snow being unable to hurt my child because nobody knows I gave birth to one. What’s to stop Snow from simply giving away my secret?

I begin to feel panicked as I think about it. If he went on air and revealed that I gave birth to Gale Hawthorne’s child three years ago that would mean chaos. People would lose faith in the Mockingjay, I would lose Peeta and Snow would be free to hurt the child. The more I think about it the stranger it seems that the president hasn’t already done this. He has no reason to keep my secret now.

I don’t get a moment of sleep the rest of the night, nearly going out of my mind with worry. Can I still be the Mockingjay even if it means Snow might reveal my child to the world? Why hasn’t he done it already? What is he planning to do? Should I withdraw from my role has figurehead or should I keep going? If Gale is right then Snow won’t actually need to harm the child because the knowledge that he might would be enough to deter me. The question is what he will do if I’m not so easily deterred.

I look at Peeta and think of how he’s lost his parents and his brothers. All I want to do is protect him and our child. Is it even possible to do either?

 

 

A few nights later we are allowed to leave the cavern and go back to upper levels. The bombs have mostly hit the ground level and done damage only to the top three levels of the underground facilities. The speculation is that they were not meant to damage us but to detain us, though for what purpose is so far unknown.

Peeta’s and my old quarters were on a destroyed level so we get assigned a new one right next to where Mother and Prim have theirs. We make love that night for the first time since we learned about Peeta’s family. It’s more about comfort than pleasure, to be honest, and it doesn’t feel as good as it usually does but I still enjoy it. Peeta’s need is not physical, like it mostly is, but regardless he doesn’t fail to pay attention to me and my needs, even if he is a bit subdued in his ministrations. We’ve done this enough to be able to work like clockwork together and that in itself is comforting. It’s familiar, it’s intimate, it’s reassuring.

I wrap my legs around Peeta’s waist and he responds by closing his eyes hard and grunting. A smile plays over my lips, my hands running down his back, feeling his skin damp with sweat. Our marriage is a gilded cage but there are times when I wouldn’t want to be without it. Bringing comfort to Peeta this way is something only I can do and it also satisfies my own needs of closeness and togetherness. There are times in life when I feel alone but those times are never in bed with my husband. His eyes open again and look at me with lust, love and a hint of desperation. I pull his face down to mine and kiss him, letting him know in every way that I can that I am here and I will not go away.

When he reaches his climax I use my legs to hold him closer, my hand nesting in his hair while he shudders and groans. He then takes a few seconds to catch his breath before he opens his eyes, looks at me and gives me a kiss. He moves his hand down to help bring me to climax but I stop him.

“No” I whisper. “Just rest with me.”

He doesn’t argue and lies down with his upper body slightly to my side while keeping himself inside of me. Every so often I don’t feel the need for a climax and he knows that so he just lies there, breathing heavily against my shoulder. I wrap my arms around him and keep him close, wishing I could tell him how happy I am that he is with me and how right now he is my only safe haven in the face of everything that is happening and that is about to happen. In times of danger I cling to him and he never fails to be my rock. The feeling that fills me, of togetherness and belonging and familiarity, is all that I need from him tonight.

“I don’t want to lose you too” he breathes against my shoulder.

“Hush” I say. “You won’t.”

“Stay with me.”

“As long as you promise you’ll stay with me.”

He nods against my shoulder and drifts to sleep. I hold him in my arms and slowly begin to fall asleep as well.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes a leap forward in the timeline and there are a number of minor time jumps in the chapter itself. I've done a few versions of it and in the end I'm fairly pleased with how it turned out but I'll leave it up to you to decide if it really works or not.

It’s different being in the Capitol now. The outer blocks of the city have all been evacuated and there’s a darkness that seems out of place in the once shining city. I’ve been here many times before, I even recognize some of the streets we make our way through, but it’s never looked, or felt, like this. It’s gone from the pearl of Panem to a warzone in what seems like no time at all and if it’s this shocking to me I can only imagine what the Capitol citizens think and feel.

The streets and houses are still pastel coloured but the bomb raids that proceeded us have left a layer of dust, soot and mortar that seems to take the life out of the bright colours. Some blocks we’ve passed through have been coated in a thick, black goo that must have been released from one of the many weaponized pods that were triggered by the falling bombs. The skies have often been overcast since we arrived and that together with a layer of dust that seems to be ever-present in the air gives the whole city a gloomy look and feel.

We are the Star Squad. Me, Gale, Finnick and Boggs along with a group that are some of the finest fighters the rebellion has to offer, plus a small camera team whose job it is to document and send feed directly back to Beetee and Plutarch who will use the footage as best they can to help the rebellion. Like everything else, war is entertainment. At least this entertainment is meant to send a message and to frighten those who still fight for the other side. Aside from myself, Gale, Finnick and Boggs the team is made up of Messalla, Cressida, Castor, Pollux, Mitchell, Jackson, Homes and a pair of twins we only refer to as Leeg 1 and Leeg 2. Together the thirteen of us hold the success of the rebellion in our hands, which is more than a little daunting to think about. So far we have met little resistance but we know that more is to be expected. As Haymitch reminded me just before I left Thirteen, if it seems too easy to be true then it usually is.

It’s been an exhausting two days since we arrived in the city. We are not the only squad out here in the Capitol but we are the ones going first. At first I thought President Coin only wanted us to make propos and _appear_ to be the biggest threat to the Capitol but we had only been at the encampment for a few days when we received new orders. These orders suit me perfectly since I am determined to be the one who gets to President Snow first. Peeta has talked about how he must be put on trial but I have no desire to see that happening. He doesn’t deserve a trial. He deserves death and I want to be the one to bring it to him.

Peeta’s mindset might be one of the reasons why he wasn’t selected to be part of the Star Squad. President Coin seems to like him a lot more than she likes me and he has done wonders to persuade people in the districts to join our side of the fight in the various propos he has shot. At first him and me did the propos together but that changed when they decided they wanted me out in the field. Peeta came with me for the first two such shoots but both times we ended up engaging peacekeepers in fights and both times they seemed to be mainly trying to get Peeta. It makes sense that they would want to silence the rebellion’s most powerful voice but it scared me and it seems to have scared Coin as well since she decided Peeta could no longer leave District 13. I’ve been highly uncomfortable shooting propos without him beside me but I’ve made it work and it’s been good to know that he is safe. When the time came to select the soldiers who would be part of the attack on the Capitol Peeta volunteered but was rejected.

Three months have passed since the bombs fell over District 13 and by now every district has either joined the rebellion or been taken. Gale went and took part in the siege of District 2 while I stayed behind and kept training. The stories I was told when he came back alarmed me. Something seems different about him these days. A cold side of him that I have never seen before. I’m not sure what to make of it but right now it’s not my biggest concern. We have to make our way through the Capitol and reach the palace. We have to do it soon, before we are detected by the enemy.

“What do you think, Katniss?” asks Finnick over my shoulder as I look out over another abandoned city block.

“I think it’s all been a little too easy” I reply.

“My thoughts exactly. The pods would have posed a huge problem but they were fairly easily deactivated through the bombings and we haven’t seen a single peacekeeper since we’ve been here. Snow would have never allowed the Capitol to be left unguarded this way unless he had a bigger plan in mind.”

I nod, wiping the sweat off my forehead with my sleeve. It’s late September and hot as an oven. Someone jokes that maybe everyone in the city have gone off to their summer houses in cooler parts of the country but I don’t think it’s very funny.

Looking around the abandoned streets, some of which bear marks of battle from the airstrike that proceeded our arrival, my mind goes to the suburbia I know lies on the other side of the river. Not everybody in the Capitol chooses to live in the city itself. Some prefer the houses a few miles away from the palace. Quiet, calm, peaceful homes with large green lawns and white picket fences. I’ve seen them when Peeta and I have been around trying to win sponsors for our tributes. I’ve never actually been inside one of them but they seem nice. I know they have been left untouched, for now. President Coin wants to concentrate our forces to the city itself. When I look at the city I say a silent prayer that the couple who adopted my baby live in the suburbs. It’s how I’ve been picturing it in my mind over the years. My happy, healthy child growing up in a clean, nice house with a green lawn where he or she can play. Swing sets, inflatable pools, trees to climb. It’s how I would have liked it to be. If the suburbs is where my child grows up then maybe he or she is safe. Maybe he or she won’t be horribly scarred by the war and destruction.

The thought of my child living in the actual city makes me near paralysed with fear. It’s almost all I can think about even though I try my best to put it from my mind and focus on the mission. President Snow still hasn’t used my child’s existence against me which frightens me more than it calms me. Is the child already dead and that’s why he can’t use my motherhood against me? Does he know that my child is being raised in the city and he gets a perverse enjoyment of the thought of how much I am part of the process that is putting the city to ruins and that I might be involved in the bombings that could kill my son or daughter? There is some part of the picture I am not yet seeing and not knowing whether or not my baby is safe pains me more than anything else I’ve lived through.

“Katniss?” Boggs’ voice brings me from my thoughts. “We need to move.”

I nod, give my bow a reassuring squeeze and take my eyes off the buildings around me. I’m still the Mockingjay but thankfully I’m not the person in charge of this mission. That dubious honour goes to Boggs, who is eons more qualified than I am. He sets a course through the streets using his holo device and the rest of us follow his lead. Boggs is a good soldier, strong and reliable and with a good head on his shoulders. I’ve come to view him as Coin’s right hand man even though I know that’s not exactly true. He’s a lot more accessible than Coin and makes a much better impression on me. Something about the president’s stern face and no-nonsense persona makes me uncomfortable. With Boggs I can actually laugh and relax and I can share my thoughts on what we should do without having to fear an icy glare in return.

I walk up next to Gale and stay next to him as we move forward. I feel most comfortable next to him. We work so well together that I never have to question him in a tough spot. I know how his mind works and he knows mine. It’s a form of trust and understanding that comes from years of depending on each other to survive. When I can I always choose to stay close to him. It makes me feel safer in a highly dangerous environment.

“How many people do you think are still in the city?” he asks me as we walk.

“I don’t know” I say. “There’s one in particular I hope has gotten out.”

He nods.

“Suburbs” he says. “We can hope, can’t we?”

I almost give him a smile.

 

 

With a weary sigh I sink back against the walls of the underground tunnels, eyes closed and fists gripping my bow so tight that I would have been worried I’d break it if it wasn’t such a sturdy thing. Just as we thought it would not be as easy as it seemed. The Capitol turns out to still be full of pods containing all kinds of horrifying traps that still haven’t detonated. We expected there to be some left but not as many as we’ve encountered. I don’t even want to think about the horrors I have just endured and witnessed before we fled into the tunnels. Messalla is gone. A pod containing acid burst when he was beside it and it sprayed all over him. His screams were horrifying. Gale took him out of his misery with an arrow. Homes nearly got taken out by a trap that crumbled under his feet sending him falling to spikes below. At the last second Finnick and Leeg 2 managed to grab him and pull him back up again.

I’m exhausted, both mentally and physically, and I find myself wondering how we will be able to make it all the way to the palace. This was only the beginning, that much is certain. There are much worse traps ahead and from what I overhear of Boggs’ conversation with Castor we soon have to go above ground again due to some blockage ahead. I know we’re only marginally safer down in the sewers but I don’t want to go back up there, even though I normally hate being underground. It _feels_ safe here, at least for the time being. Maybe it’s the enclosed space that makes me feel slightly more protected. I don’t know. All I know is Messalla won’t be the only casualty before this is over.

Finnick comes over and sits next to me. He hands me a can of food and I take it, eating mechanically, barely feeling the taste.

“Brings back sweet memories of Capitol cuisine, does it not?” jokes Finnick.

“Oh sure” I answer half-heartedly. “For a moment there I thought I was back at Games Headquarters.”

Finnick chuckles and looks at his food which by no stretch of the imagination reminds you of the food we had in the Capitol. He pokes around in the can for a moment or two, then takes a bite of the cold stew.

“So how displeased was Peeta before you left?” he then asks. “Annie was hysterical. She didn’t want me to go, though she knew why I had to.”

I smile a little. It’s a secret only a few of us know but Annie and Finnick have decided that when the rebellion is over they will get married. I think the notion is lovely. They will be amazing together, I have no doubt. Over the past months I’ve gotten the chance to watch them together and see the affection they have for one another. For them the rebellion is the same as hope. Hope that the real star-crossed lovers of the Hunger Games can have a happily ever after. I was with Finnick a few weeks ago when he shot a propo in which he revealed a lot of truths I never knew about. How his beauty made President Snow sell him to anyone in the Capitol who could pay enough; money Finnick never saw. Secrets Finnick would hear from the people who bought him. It’s not been said outright what would have happened if Finnick had ever refused to play along with Snow’s agenda but I have a feeling that I don’t need to look any further than to Johanna Mason to find the answer to that. Because of this he could never be with Annie, his true love. More and more I now understand why the victors keep saying Peeta and I are lucky. Because we had each other and we were the star-crossed lovers of District 12 Snow didn’t want to sell us. The Capitol audience wanted to see us have a happy ending. Without even knowing it Peeta once again saved me from a very bleak future. Gale still thinks that our marriage is prostitution in itself but in my eyes that is offensive to what Finnick and many other victors have been put through and it is offensive to Peeta, myself and our relationship. I have never given my body to Peeta unwillingly, nor has he given his to me. As far as victors’ futures go Peeta and I had it pretty good.

“Did Peeta get hysterical, too?” asks Finnick, bringing me back to the conversation. “He’s a lot more... composed... than Annie but I still wager it wasn’t easy for him to let you go off to the Capitol and fight.”

I nod slightly.

“He wasn’t wild about it” I admit, taking another bite from my can of cold food. “But Peeta understands. He always does. I don’t think he expected me to stay in Thirteen when the rest of you left, especially not since I’m the Mockingjay. I guess if there’s one thing that comes as an instinct to us by now it’s abiding by the rules of PR.”

“What about you?” asks Finnick, fishing out a chunk of stew from his can using only his fingers. “Do you wish he were here or are you glad he’s somewhere safe?”

I take a second to think about the question before I answer.

“Both.”

“I’m glad Annie isn’t here” sighs Finnick.

“Peeta’s not Annie” I reply. “He could have been useful here but Coin is hung up on his prosthetic leg and worries that he won’t be able to keep up.”

“Would he?”

“Of course he would” I say with a snort. “He’s remarkably agile with that leg, most of the time.” I set the can aside, feeling like my appetite is gone. “If he couldn’t keep up he wouldn’t hinder us. He would fall on the sword some way or another. Which is why it’s just as well that he stayed behind.”

Finnick studies me with curiosity that I shy away from. I get along much better with him these days but I don’t truly understand him.

“It’s not so different” he says. “Me and Annie, you and Peeta.”

“I guess not” I say.

“I’ve often wondered how much of it is an act on your part...” continues Finnick.

I give him an icy stare.

“And?”

“I think if I truly wanted answers you would be the last person I should ask.”

He gets up and walks over to Jackson and Boggs who are still studying the holo. I give my can a kick, sending it flying and its contents spilling out. I don’t care that I’m wasting food. I can’t believe someone like Finnick puts any time and effort at all into thinking about my relationship with Peeta. How is it any of his business, one way or the other? What does it even matter? Most likely I won’t make it out of this alive anyway.

I think of the last moments I had alone with Peeta before I left Thirteen. He knew as well as I did what danger I was heading into and I knew it killed him inside not to be able to come with me and protect me. Neither one of us spoke much. We held each other and shared a kiss and I worried that he would remind me of my promises never to leave him. He didn’t, as if he understood that I probably can’t keep them.

“Catnip!” says Gale, bringing me back to the present. “You should finish your meal.”

He hands me the can with whatever is left in it. I ignore it and signal as best as I can that I don’t feel like talking. I am glad that Peeta stayed behind where it’s safe but in moments like these I wish he was here to hold me. Gale is my hunting partner and the best person I could wish to have by my side in combat. When the dust settles and losses are counted it is Peeta I wish to have beside me. He’s the one who understands what I feel when I watch somebody die or I take somebody’s life. He would know how I feel after watching Messalla die. Gale was there but his reaction does not seem to be the same as mine and I wonder if he would think my reaction is a weakness.

Gale sighs and sits down next to me. Thankfully he takes the hint and doesn’t try to talk but he also doesn’t leave me alone. I pull my knees up towards me and hide my face in them. It’s funny. Gale is the only person I can turn to when I feel depressed about the baby but in times like these he can’t comfort me at all. At the same time Peeta, whose blue eyes and gentle smile can make me feel better in almost any situation, is no help at all when I long for the child we share.

“Hey” says Gale after a long period of silence. “We’re stopping here for a few hours. Try to get some sleep.”

I lay down reluctantly, curling up on my side, using my hands for a pillow. Gale gets down behind me, moving closer as if to spoon with me. I pointedly edge a little further away and ignore the disappointed sigh he makes. I wouldn’t mind sharing his body heat but his presence isn’t comforting me and I’d rather sleep by myself. I have never slept side by side with Gale like that and the thought of it feels awkward. Also I’m Peeta’s wife and sleeping in another man’s embrace does not feel right, no matter what the circumstances.

“Get some sleep, both of you” says Mitchell, walking over to check on us. “I’ll take first watch. We move out in five hours.”

“Almost makes you long back to the good old lazy mornings working in the coal mines” says Gale dryly.

I take a deep breath that comes out in a yawn and close my eyes, trying not to see the horrors I have lived today. I can only hope that tomorrow will be easier but I have no reason to believe that will be the case. From this point on it’s only going to get worse.

 

 

We make it out of the sewers and up to the streets the following afternoon. Once again things have turned alarmingly calm and quiet. By now everybody knows this means bad things are coming and we’re all even more on edge now than we were before. We’ve made it through a number of blocks by now, about one fourth of the way to the palace, and it’s like walking through a ghost town.

As the daylight begins to fade we take refuge inside an abandoned apartment building. It’s been hit by the pre-strikes and most of the windows have been blown away which doesn’t bother me. It’s far too hot outside and the air-conditioning systems aren’t functioning so the only relief from the suffocating heat and humidity comes from the occasional breeze. We find a room where we can feel somewhat safe, Leeg 1 is appointed to have the first guard and the rest of us settle in to eat.

A thoroughly unnerving sound appears in the distance, breaking the silence and the illusion of calm. It sounds like a strange combination of quacking, babbling and growling which is unlike any natural sound I have ever heard. It’s accompanied by a strange clicking sound and while it’s coming from at least ten blocks away it is still clearly audible to us. Finnick, Pollux and I slowly rise to our feet, ears turned to the strange noises.

“What is that?” asks Gale, though he probably knows the answer.

“Mutts” answer Finnick and I.

“But they’re moving away from us” observes Gale.

“What are they doing?” I muse out loud. I look at my compatriots and it seems clear that most of them know the answer to my question. “What are they doing?” I repeat. “If there are mutts out there why aren’t they coming after us?”

“It doesn’t matter” says Cressida. “Just be grateful as long as they’re not coming after us.”

My eyes go to Finnick, who looks away. I share a look with Gale who seems as confused as I feel. He doesn’t know as much about mutts as I do nor does he understand President Snow’s methods as well but even he knows that something out of the ordinary is going on. President Snow would never send mutts for no reason and if they’re not tracking us then something else is out there and I need to know what it is. Can other squads really have gotten this far into the city? The plan is for the rest of the troops to attack periphery targets to give the illusion that we’re not ready to fully attack the city yet.

“What are they hunting?” I ask. “Or who?”

Jackson, Cressida, Castor, Pollux the Leegs and Finnick all look at Boggs. My frustration and irritation grows as I realize that once again I have been left out of the big plans. Castor walks over and hands me a can of rabbit stew, attempting to appease me.

“Don’t worry about it” he says. “Our focus needs to be on our mission.”

“ _Who_ or _what_ are they hunting?” asks Gale sharply, crossing his arms over his chest. “We have a right to know.”

My anger almost brims over and I’m just about to open my mouth and yell at Boggs and Cressida and anyone else in my vicinity that I am sick and tired of being used without ever getting to be in on the grand schemes when Boggs sighs and takes a seat on the ground, holo in front of him.

“President Coin did not want to leave anything to chance” he says.

“Okay?” says Gale. “Meaning what?”

“It is imperative that we make it all the way to the palace and get our hands on Snow. We knew it wouldn’t be easy. The Capitol’s defences would figure it out sooner or later and we know by now that they have. It makes us targets.”

“Of course it does” snorts Gale. Then a realization dawns on him. “President Coin sent out a diversion.”

“Yes” nods Boggs. “A secondary squad. Smaller than ours. Meant to draw attention.”

“But how could it draw attention away from us?” I ask. “We’re supposed to be the best. Snow is well aware of that; he’s the one who made Finnick and me the fighters we are today and--”

“They sent out a team of three” interrupts Boggs. “Or at least that was the plan. Three people to sneak in, discreetly draw attention to themselves, make it seem like we were the decoys and they were the real head team, or at least make Snow and his military aids wonder who the real threat is.”

“So who did they send?” I ask.

Boggs looks me straight in the eye.

“Johanna Mason, Peeta Mellark and Chaff.”

My face goes pale and for a moment I experience the same feeling I had when Prim’s name was drawn at the reaping. It can’t be real. They couldn’t possibly have done that. President Coin could not be so cold as to do that. I’ve heard her myself, saying that Peeta isn’t fit for ground combat anymore with that leg of his. If that’s her true opinion of him, and I have no reason to doubt that it is, sending him out to be a decoy is the same as tying up a smaller animal to draw in a larger predator, which never ends well for the bait. They were so eager to protect him before. Haymitch promised me he would keep Peeta safe. What on earth changed?

“Peeta?” I say, a hint of desperation in my voice. “ _My_ Peeta?”

Gale looks at me in a way that would have made me feel guilty for some reason if I had been anywhere else hearing any other news but right now I’m barely aware that Gale is here. Pollux walks over to me and places a hand on my shoulder and I have a strong desire to shove it off me but I can’t seem to manage at the moment.

“There--” begins Finnick but I silence him with a look and an outburst of anger. He should be the last person to say anything right now. Wasn’t it just last night that he was talking to me about Peeta, asking me if I was relieved that he was safe back in Thirteen and saying that he was glad Annie is out of harm’s reach? And all along he knew that Peeta is not safe, that he is out there on the streets with the sole purpose of drawing danger to himself.

“Shut up Finnick!” I yell furiously. “Boggs what the _hell_ is Coin doing sending Peeta out there? And Chaff?”

“They needed high profile people to draw attention” explains Boggs.

“So they send two amputees and a woman who is practically _insane_?”

“Be quiet” snarls Jackson. “You’ll draw them here. It’s no different than anybody else taking part in this rebellion. They’ll be fine, or they won’t. Let it go, Katniss. That’s all you can do.”

“She’s right” says Gale. “Nothing we do can help them now and unless we continue on as before the risk they take is for nothing.”

I glare at him in disbelief but deep down I know that he’s right. If Peeta, Johanna and Chaff are out there nothing I do will help them. I just can’t accept that it’s real. Peeta is the one person I want to protect the most, save Prim and the child who’s out there somewhere. I swore to myself I would never allow anything bad to happen to him again and even though it’s not directly my fault that he is out there I know that he agreed to act as a decoy in the hopes that it might save my life. Full of anger and resentment I shrug Pollux’s hand off me and go off to a corner to have whatever privacy is possible. Gale makes a move to follow but I snarl at him to leave me alone. I sink down on the floor, wrapping my arms around my legs, thinking that if Haymitch Abernathy was here right now I would wring his neck. He must be involved in this. Nothing happens without him knowing about it. I cannot believe he would let Peeta go off on a mission like this. He promised me he would protect him.

I keep to myself for the duration of our break, barely sleeping a wink, wondering if the mutts found Peeta, Johanna and Chaff. We can’t hear any sounds of a scuffle but we don’t know what types of mutts those were either. Feeling sick to my stomach I wonder if I will ever get to see Peeta Mellark again or if he will finally become a victim of the Capitol’s violence and oppression.

It’s Leeg 1 who eventually summons me by simply placing a hand on my shoulder. She doesn’t say anything and I’m thankful for that, not feeling in the mood to talk with anyone. Hardly anyone seems to be able to look me in the eye at the moment and it’s just as well. I’m especially glad that Gale keeps a bit of a distance and doesn’t fall in to walk beside me. I know he wants me to be with him and not with Peeta but I don’t think he wishes widowhood upon me and he knows that Peeta means a lot to me no matter how you spin it. I feel an almost paralysing sense of fear and worry, sick from the knowledge that if Peeta dies I might never even know it. We could both become martyrs to this cause and neither one of us will know about the other’s fate. What a sorry end for the star-crossed lovers.

Pollux is the one who walks beside me as we leave the building and head back out to the streets. His company is somewhat tolerable since he can’t speak to me and because he radiates a silent strength that nearly manages to comfort me. I feel a bit of a connection to him as he is an avox and knows as well as Finnick and me what cruelty the Capitol is capable of. He has a personal score to settle and that gives him a drive that is different from the others. I think he is the only one who can begin to understand my distress at the thought of the Capitol taking yet another thing that matters away from me.

 

 

The mutts that went after Peeta, Johanna and Chaff were not the only ones released, as we soon come to learn. Throughout the day we come across pods that include these genetically created beasts. Someone in the group actually laughs when one pod releases a flock of squirrels but I trust no animal that comes from a Capitol pod. We manage to survive them without casualties but Homes gets a nasty bite on his hand and on his neck. After that nobody laughs at any mutts even though we don’t encounter any significantly dangerous ones. Once again this all seems alarmingly calm. Whatever President Snow has in store for us it must be something awful.

Despite the urgency of our mission and all the deadly things surrounding us I’m having a hard time keeping focus, though I try my best not to let my distress show. I can’t stop thinking about, and worrying about, Peeta. Is he still alive? I have no way of knowing. It was bad enough when I didn’t know if my child was alive or dead but now the child’s father, my husband, is out there too, possibly dead or badly injured. If President Snow knows about this he must be having the time of his life over it.

Night falls and we make our way inside another apartment building, hoping it will shelter us through the darkest hours. Castor and Pollux seem convinced that we have made it past the blockage in the underground tunnels and it’s with mixed feelings that I receive the news that once we’ve rested we’ll find our way back down there and continue underground from here on out.

We settle in to get some rest, Gale standing guard. I’m exhausted and don’t even care that the night is completely silent even though it should be alarming. All I want is some rest and a few moments of serenity. This drawn-out wait for the axe to fall is starting to get to me, which probably is the whole point. It reminds me of being back in the arena only this time there is no guarantee that anybody will make it out alive.

Suddenly the quiet is broken by sounds of things breaking, smashing and falling. Every one of us responds instinctively by getting up and drawing our weapons but after a second Boggs holds up his hand to signal that we can put our weapons down. Mutts. They are near, but not too near.

“Quickly” he whispers, edging us all out into the corridor that leads to the stairwell. “Move forward. Castor, you take...”

A piercing scream cuts through the darkness and sends chills down my body. It must be Johanna Mason’s. For a fraction of a second I am relieved because it means they might all still be alive but then the real implication of the scream hits me. It means that the mutts have found them and they are in trouble. Reacting on instinct I push past the people around me and run up the half-flight of stairs, push the door open with strength I barely knew I had and run out on the roof. I run up to a platform in the middle of the roof where there used to be a mast to receive broadcasting signals but it has now been broken in half. Steadying myself on the top of the broken mast I try to localize from where the sounds are coming.

“Peeta!” I cry at the top of my lungs. “Peeta! I’m here!”

Behind me I hear other members of our team cursing and trying to catch up with me. I know I’m drawing attention to us, of course I know it, that’s the whole point. It may not be the most well thought-out plan of my life but it’s the only thing I can think of to do. I need to get those mutts away from Peeta. He’s got a prosthetic leg that might hinder him and he’s only got Chaff, with just one hand, and Johanna, who might be dead, to protect him. I can’t let the mutts just get him.

“Peeta!”

I get half of his name out one more time before I’m tackled to the ground and have the wind knocked out of me. I manage to scream Peeta’s name once more and then somebody’s hand covers my mouth while the weight of that person pushes me into the concrete. I can barely breathe, let alone scream, but it does nothing to subdue my intention of drawing attention away from Peeta.

“Have you lost your mind?” growls Finnick in my ear. “You can’t help him.”

I respond by biting his hand, not hard but enough for him to take it from my mouth with an angrily muttered curse.

“Go to hell” I snarl at him. “I have to help Peeta. He could be dying out there.”

“Better him than us” says Gale.

The shock of hearing those words come out of his mouth makes me stop struggling against Finnick and I turn my head as much as I can to look at him. He seems completely unbothered by the venom in my eyes.

“No” is all I manage to spit out.

“Our mission is to find and capture or kill President Snow” says Gale. “Their mission is to help us succeed. If we are attacked, if you and Finnick and Boggs and the rest of us are killed then the rebellion will likely fail. Peeta’s life is not worth more than the freedom of Panem.”

“It is to me!” I reply, too distressed to see the way he reacts to that or to really reflect on the meaning of what I just said.

“This display of spousal affection warms the coldest of hearts” says Finnick dryly in my ear. “Just not mine, not today. I’m sorry Mockingjay but I can’t let you draw them here. If Peeta dies then he dies. Until you know for sure go on and assume he’s alive if that helps you.”

“Enough!” barks Boggs. “Finnick get her up. We have to go, _right now_.”

Finnick rises, holding my hands in a tight grip behind my back and pulling me up on my feet. I don’t scream. I know there’s no point anymore. Either I was successful, in which case we need to get out of here, or I was too late and nothing more can be done.

“Forget about him” says Gale coldly and for the first time in my life I really want to slap him. “Think about what’s really important.”

“What’s really important is that we get out of here” snarls Boggs. “The mutts are on their way, you can bet on that. So let’s go before--”

He’s cut off by a growl followed by a scream. A huge mutt, similar to the ones that attacked Cato, Peeta and me at the end of our Games, has leapt up onto the roof and has Leeg 2’s head in a firm grip. Finnick lets go of my hands and I reach for my bow but Gale is faster. Boggs takes the lead and begins to run to leap from this rooftop to the next and escape that way since the mutt blocks the door we came out from and I follow him without question. Castor and Pollux grab Leeg 1 and pull her with them though she fights to get free and help her sister. I hear Castor telling her there’s nothing they can do for her now and I know it’s my fault that she is dead but I don’t know if I feel any remorse. Better she than Peeta.

We make our escape just as more mutts come jumping on to the roof. They seem to go to Leeg 2 first before picking up on the rest of us which buys us enough time to get off the roof and make our way down into the new building. Finnick is now taking the lead, bringing us further and further down and not stopping until we reach the bottom floor. There is a thick door which he gets open and ushers us all through. It’s the kind of thick steel door that is built to keep enemies out. I know they exist in a few buildings here and there, a remnant of the precautions taken during the first uprising. Once we’re all inside Finnick follows and closes the door with seconds to spare before the mutts reach the bottom of the stairs.

Leeg 1 collapses on the floor in sobs with Castor and Pollux at her side. Finnick leans back against the door and closes his eyes for a moment. Gale’s eyes are fixated on me but I don’t want to look at him right now. I can’t forgive what he said about Peeta up on the roof even if I know that he is right on some level. I imagine Leeg 1 can’t forgive me for my actions either but at least she knew going in that her sister could end up dying while I was under the belief that my husband was safe in District 13. Boggs walks up to me and looks angrier than I’ve ever seen him.

“Don’t _ever_ do that again!” he barks. “If you do I will not hesitate to shoot you myself. Is that understood?”

“They’re out there on their own” I snarl in response. “Outnumbered against the mutts they don’t stand a chance.”

“This is _war_!” barks Boggs. “If you can’t understand that then I don’t know what the hell kind of use you are.”

“Leave her alone” says Finnick sharply from his spot by the door. “What did Coin think was going to happen when she sent her husband out as decoy?”

Boggs curses and walks away to cool off. I remain frozen in place, panting from the escape from the roof, feeling sick not knowing whether Peeta and the others are alive. Leeg 2 is not and I can hear her sister’s sobs coming from the other end of the room. I look over at Finnick and realize he had a very good point just now. What did Coin think was going to happen when she sent Peeta out there? It doesn’t make sense. If I’m so important to their cause why put my husband in harm’s way? Even if she doesn’t believe that our love is real it still seems a risky move to make. Even riskier when you factor in how she seems to feel that he is far more important to the rebellion than I am.

I walk over to one of the corners and sit down, leaning back against the wall. Nobody comes up to me. I’m not exactly popular at the moment but to hell with all of them. I’m left sitting there alone for about fifteen minutes before Boggs orders everybody up on their feet. The faint growls and poundings of the mutts outside the door can still be heard and it begins to dawn on me that unless there’s some hidden exit we’re all trapped in here.

“Finnick?” asks Gale, who has had the same thought. “The door... Is it the only way out?”

“No” answers Boggs. “These rooms always have escape doors, in case of emergency.”

“Sounds stupid” snorts Gale. “If we can get out someone else can get in.”

“The doors don’t work like that” says Castor. “You can only exit through them, not enter, and they’re impossible to detect from the other side. In this particular part of the city all such doors lead down to the underground tunnels.”

“Then the enemy knows this” Gale points out. “Going down there is suicide.”

“So is walking out the door” says Finnick, leaving his spot to walk up to Gale. “At least we stand some chance going down into the tunnels. We were heading there anyway. Might as well give it a shot.”

“Once we’re in the tunnels we’ll be out of earshot from those above ground” says Jackson, shooting me a glare. “Probably safer for everyone involved.”

Boggs, Castor and Pollux begin to search for the spot where the hidden exit is. I lean back against the wall again, finding it hard to care what happens from this point on. Our chances of reaching the palace and finding Snow seem miniscule and even if we do, how many of us will still be alive at that point? What kind of life will we have when it’s all over?

Finnick, to my knowledge the only one who has something to live for after the rebellion, walks over to me and leans against the wall right next to me.

“Peeta can take care of himself” he says.

“Against mutts?” I question. “Against that _many_ mutts?”

Finnick doesn’t have an answer for me but he takes my hand and I let him. I know why he tackled me up on the roof and I have no resentment for it. I don’t expect him, or anybody else, to understand what drove me to do what I did when I barely understand it myself.

“It will be alright” he says, making promises he can’t keep.

“I’m sorry I bit you” I mumble.

“I plan on returning the favour at some point.”

It almost makes me chuckle. Almost. I stare down at my feet and try really hard not to imagine what must have gone on when that scream cut through the air. If they are still alive are they badly wounded? Judging by the state Leeg 2 was in when we left I’d say that would be unlikely but I can’t bear to think of Peeta’s body mangled that way.

“I don’t know if what you feel for him is... if you’re _in_ love with him” says Finnick in a low voice. “But it’s clear as day that it’s love of some kind.”

I feel tears falling down my cheeks and quickly wipe them away.

“He’s my partner, Finnick” I say, trying to stop my voice from quivering. There are so few things about my relationship with Peeta that are private but the way I feel about him feels incredibly so. I want to explain my reaction to Finnick but I don’t want to let go of anything private that I still have when it comes to Peeta. “He was the one who was with me in that chariot. Who trained with me. The one I survived my Games with. The one who... He’s been my husband for years now. I don’t want him to be gone.”

“Then let’s not assume that he is until we know it for sure” says Finnick softly.

I nod and let him pull me in for a light hug. I want to break down and cry but I can’t. Not here, not now. Not like this. I pull away from the hug and offer Finnick a faint smile.

“Thanks, Finnick. Let’s hope he’ll make an amazing cake for your wedding.”

He nods and takes my hand again, leading me to the others who have gathered around the exit to the tunnels. Pollux goes down first, followed by Boggs. I’m the second to last to go and little do I know when I go down there that only six of us will come back up again.

 

 

I can’t believe it’s actually real when I worm my way through the window and fall down on the floor below. I’m inside the palace. We made it this far. Despite the pods, the mutts, the traps. Despite our faces being on every screen in the Capitol and everybody seeming to be looking for us. Despite all the peacekeepers guarding the palace. We’re here and we’re not going to give up now, so close to our target.

After a minute Gale comes through the window. He’s the only one who’s with me. It was Finnick who insisted that only the three of us should go and the other three should stay outside and try to help the incoming troops. A smaller group has a greater chance of success than a larger one. Not ten minutes after that decision was made Finnick was shot and probably killed by soldiers of the Capitol. None of us were able to stop and make sure, nor would we have been able to bring us with him if he’s still alive. I can only hope and pray that he survived and that the medical troops from Thirteen will reach him before Snow’s troops do.

Once Gale is inside I walk over to the window and unhook the rope we used to scale the fifteen feet of wall between the window and the ground. I can see Pollux, Cressida and Mitchell waiting down there and I pause for a moment, giving them the hand signal from District 12. I want to tell them it has been a privilege to work with them but words are not enough and there’s not enough time. We must get going, fast.

In my hands I hold the holo I took from Boggs after he was killed. Jackson very reluctantly showed me how to use it and I can manoeuvre it somewhat okay even though I’m far from an expert and it takes me a little time. Time we really don’t have. I find the map of the presidential palace, details provided by a former palace worker who joined the rebellion at an early stage, and with Gale’s help figure out where we are and where we need to go. We can’t know for sure where President Snow will be but his private quarters is our best bet.

“Ready?” I ask Gale, putting the holo away after committing the route to memory.

“Let’s do this.”

We head over to the door and Gale throws it open and walks through it. Immediately he fires an arrow and I hear a guttural scream. Gale then disappears from my view and I follow him out the door, ignoring the dead body lying on the floor with an arrow protruding from its chest. As Boggs said, this is war. This person is not the first one our squad has taken out and he’s not going to be the last. Not as long as Coriolanus Snow is out there.

Our route through the palace takes us up three flights of stairs and through a variety of rooms and corridors. I pay little attention to any of the places we’re in except to make a note of where we are heading and make sure there’s nobody alive who might shoot at us. Then we pass through a small room that is filled with monitors and keyboards and various other controls. Gale stops and walks over to take a closer look and I realize this must be a security office.

“Anything?” I ask.

“No” he says. “Could just be a trick, though.” He frowns and I step closer to take a look for myself but he holds out his hand. “Wait... Is this the stage where you did your Game interviews?”

I take a closer look and find that it is indeed that stage, and Caesar Flickerman is walking back and forth on it, seeming nervous. I share a look with Gale. They’re preparing to do a broadcast? Now? Rebel troops broke into the non-evacuated parts of the city early this morning. Live broadcasts must be the last thing they should waste time on. Who would even watch it?

“You know their methods better than I do” says Gale. “What do you make of it?”

“Nothing. It makes no sense.”

“Well then let’s not waste any energy on it” decides Gale. “Come on. We still need to find Snow and the longer we linger the greater the risk of someone finding us.”

He moves toward the door but I remain frozen in place, trying to figure out what is about to happen. Will Snow be part of this broadcast? He’s done a few over the past two months. If he is, he won’t be here in the palace. If he’s not then we’ve got a big problem on our hands.

Gale grabs me by the arm before I can give it any more thought and leads me out to another hallway. I’m beginning to feel disoriented but Gale seems confident in where we are headed. From outside we can hear a bit of commotion and I can only guess it means that the soldiers from Thirteen have arrived at the square. Finally this may all be drawing near its end.

I round a corner and see nobody there. With Gale on my heels I run down the long corridor, beginning to recognize my surroundings. I’ve never been in Snow’s private quarters but I know that they aren’t far off from where we are now. I expect a lot more peacekeepers to show up when we get through the next door.

Then a loud bang comes from outside and the last thing I am aware of is that I’m being knocked off my feet and flown into a wall.

 

 

I wake up in a hospital bed. I don’t know where I am or what has happened but I don’t have an reason to believe I’m in the hands of the enemy because the doctors and nurses who check in on me seem friendly and intent on keeping me alive for better purposes than torture and public execution. We must have won, or at least survived in great enough numbers to get some of us out and treat us properly. The medical ward seems familiar somehow but one is much like another so I don’t read much into it. I want to ask questions but there is a tube down my throat which they don’t remove at once. I fall asleep and wake up again before they do. My arms are hooked up to an IV and two monitors, one that shows my blood pressure and one that shows something else. I feel lightheaded and a little nauseous but other than that I’m okay. Physically, at least.

“What happened?” I say through my coughs as soon as the tube is gone from my throat.

“You were thrown by an explosion” explains the doctor who removed the tube.

“Where am I?”

“The hospital ward of the palace.”

“The palace... So we won...” My eyes take in the frantic activity that surrounds me. There are at least a dozen beds in the room, each with a person in it, and the doctors and nurses are moving around at a fast pace. “How many survived?”

“Less than we’d hoped. More than we’d expected.”

I sit myself up a bit, feeling an ache in my chest but ignoring it. I try to see if I recognize any of the people sharing the room with me but I can only see two or three faces clearly and they are strangers to me.

“You should lie back down, Ms. Everdeen” says the doctor. “You suffered a collapsed lung from the shockwave and you broke two ribs when you hit the wall.”

“Who... is alive?” I ask.

“Just relax” says the doctor.

“No, I can’t relax. My friends, my family. Are they okay?”

“Someone will be by to speak with you.”

“What?” I croak. “No! Tell me right now. Where is my mother? Where is my sister? Where is my husband? Where is Gale?”

I don’t get an answer. The doctor moves on to a more urgent patient. Fear begins to come over me as I realize that there’s nobody here that I know. Nobody who sits with me, waiting for me to come to. Not my mother, not Gale, not Haymitch, not Prim. Not Peeta.

Peeta. Is he still alive? I have no reason to hope so. The last I heard of his team was Johanna’s screams in the darkness and then nothing. I can’t lie in this bed any longer when I don’t know if my husband is alive or not. I need to find someone who can tell me. I see one of the nurses talking on the phone and looking over at me like I’m the person she’s talking about. Is she calling somebody I know to come to my bedside when they give me the news that I’m a widow? Will it be Gale? Will he take my hand and offer me silent support, grieving with me over the realization that my child’s biological father is gone? I can’t lie here in this bed and just wait to find out. Without further ado I pull out the IV and disconnect myself from the monitors, getting out of bed clumsily but full of determination. I have to sit still for a few seconds until my head stops spinning and luckily none of the medical personnel are looking my way just then. A small trickle of blood runs down my arm from where I pulled out the IV and I keep my eyes fixated on it until it reaches the palm of my hand. Then I rise to my feet, unsteadily and with some pain but with only one thing on my mind. Finding somebody who has answers. Finding Peeta.

I’ve made it to the door before anybody notices I’m out of bed and when I hear them calling out to me I take off running. I’m in bad shape and after just a few steps I’m out of breath, all the while the world is spinning around me but it doesn’t stop me. I can’t be tethered to that bed. I can’t be held down anymore. I can’t just lie there and wait for somebody to come and tell me what happened to my life partner.

Rounding a corner I knock into Haymitch and fall on my back. It hurts, particularly in my chest, but the sight of him fires me up and I get back on my feet. They called Haymitch. Not my mother or my sister. Fear and anger rise in my chest to the point where I can hardly stand it.

“Where is he?” I ask. “What happened to him? Did the mutts kill him?”

“No” answers Haymitch but I can tell he’s here to bring me bad news. I know he won’t lie to me. He’ll tell me the truth.

“Tell me they went in and got him after the mutts attacked. Tell me _you_ made sure they brought him back to safety!”

“I tried.”

“Tried?” I echo. My mouth has gone completely dry.

“They got to him first. Took him to Snow.”

“Took him to Snow...” The worry I have felt for him since I knew he was out on the streets of the Capitol coupled with the terrors I have lived through since we arrived from Thirteen and the very idea of Peeta being in Snow’s hands and at his mercy makes me snap. I lounge at Haymitch, not feeling the pain in my body, beating on him with my fists. “How could you do that? How could you send him out there? You should have protected him!”

Haymitch grabs a hold of my wrists and forces me to look him in the eye.

“I didn’t know, Katniss. I would have never sanctioned him going out as a decoy but I don’t think it’s likely I would have been able to stop him either. I had nothing to do with it, sweetheart. President Coin kept me in the dark, probably because she knew I would object.”

“You were supposed to _protect_ him!” I yell, ignorant of the fact that there are people all around us and I’m making a scene. “How could you let this happen to him? How could you get him killed?”

“Katniss, Katniss, Peeta is alive. He’s alive and he’s in the medical ward on the third floor. We got him and Johanna out, both.”

His words slowly sink in and I stop trying to fight against him. He’s alive. Johanna, too. Chaff is not, apparently. Still, something is wrong. They wouldn’t have sent for Haymitch just to tell me that Peeta is alive and nearby.

“Peeta is alive” I say, feeling a little better as I say the words. “Somebody else is not. Haymitch?”

He releases his grip on my wrists and puts his hands on my shoulders.

“Prim.”

 

 

I feel completely numb, as if I’ve been given a strong dose of morphling and all my senses have been dulled to the world. I’m in a bed in a tiny, private room, sitting with my arms wrapped around my knees, slowly rocking back and forth. Prim is gone. Prim is dead. I don’t understand how. She and my mother were supposed to be safe. They were supposed to be back in District 13. It’s beyond what I can fathom, worse even than when my father died.

Haymitch sits on the bed, silently supporting me, much like he did for Peeta in District 13. Peeta can’t come to me; he’s not in good shape though Haymitch hasn’t told me what Snow did to him and I haven’t asked. Frankly I don’t care right now. I don’t have to worry about him. He’s alive. Prim is not. My sister is dead.

Occasionally I break down and cry, my whole body shaking with sobs until I can barely breathe. Haymitch keeps his hand on my shoulder while I cry, supporting me but keeping a bit of a distance. I’m glad. I need a little distance. It’s good that he is here and not Peeta because Peeta would try and hug me and hold me and I don’t want anybody too near me right now. That’s almost true. I would have liked to be in my mother’s embrace but she’s too devastated by her loss to be there for me. Now I’m just like Peeta said when his family died. I’m alone, no family left.

I don’t know for how long I’m in this state and to Haymitch’s credit he never leaves as far as I’m aware. I guess he knows better than most what it’s like to lose the people you love. Maybe he’s worried about Peeta and would like to sit with him but he doesn’t go. Maybe Peeta isn’t conscious. I don’t know and I don’t care right now. Haymitch is free to go if he wishes to but he chooses to stay with me so I can only take that to mean that whatever shape Peeta is currently in he’s doing better than I am.

Eventually Gale arrives. I’m glad that he’s alive and doing well but beyond that I can’t care. Nothing really matters with Prim gone. He tells Haymitch that he will sit with me for a while and my mentor nods, gives my shoulder a squeeze and leaves. Probably to go sit with Peeta.

“Catnip...” says Gale in a whisper, sitting down right next to me on the bed. “I can’t even begin to say...” His voice chokes up a little. “I don’t even know what to say. I’m so sorry.”

“How did it happen?” I ask, my voice barely holding up. “Did they bomb Thirteen?”

“That’s the thing, Katniss...” says Gale, his voice telling me that something is burdening him. “She wasn’t in Thirteen. It happened in the Capitol.”

I look at him like he just told me that President Snow and Greasy Sae were secretly the same person all along.

“That’s not possible” I manage.

“She arrived as part of the medical team.”

“No” I say. “No, there must be a mistake. She’s not old enough. She’s not eighteen. There is no way she would be on the medical team!”

“She was. Katniss I don’t know how to tell you the rest but you need to hear it.”

“What?” I ask, terrified of what he’s about to say. Did Snow get her too? Did he torture my sister to death?

“Prim... She... She died when they dropped bombs on a group of children she was tending to. Capitol children.”

“Prim herself was a child.”

“Katniss...”

Then it hits me. What he just said. _Capitol_ children.

“Gale?” I ask, almost too afraid to speak. “Gale was... was my...”

“I don’t know. Nor do I have any idea how we would find out.”

I thought the death of Prim was the worst thing I could ever experience. This is worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my original outlines for the story Prim survived the rebellion. Then I went back and forth numerous times between letting her live and killing her off. I didn't want too much of a "destiny says so" thing where people's fates are still similar to canon. I also really didn't want to tackle Katniss' grief and depression over losing her sister when there are a lot of other elements I want to focus on. In the end, I decided to kill Prim off because the story works better that way. She doesn't have a role to play anyway in the rest of the story and she would probably end up "in the way".
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter I borrowed some lines directly from "Mockingjay". I wanted to depict the same scenes/scenarios and basically just rewording the scenes felt stupider. It's not a lot, but devoted fans will be able to tell which parts =)

The next days are a blur. They give me morphling, or something else to calm me down, I’m not entirely sure. I’m grateful for the medications because I don’t know how I would be able to stand it without medicinal help. Prim is dead. My child might be as well; so many children died when those bombs fell and I have no way of ever knowing if mine was among them. For the rest of my life I will have to go on without ever seeing my sister again, nor will I ever know if my child survived the war. I wish I could have died instead. I wish that so fervently that I almost believe I can make it happen; that I can grieve myself to death.

My mother never comes to me and I hate her for that. Always preoccupied with her own grief, always putting herself first. As far as I’m concerned she might as well have died, too. What does it matter if my mother lives if she will not comfort me when I need her the most?

Haymitch comes. He sits beside me every day, a few hours at a time. If he notices the worsening of my grief after Gale’s visit he doesn’t comment or ask about it. I’ve lost my sister and that is all the explanation he needs for my current state. He doesn’t sit with me all the time anymore because Peeta needs him too. I never ask for my husband or even care much about his condition. If he’s alive then he’ll be alright in the end. If he was tortured badly at the hands of Snow I don’t want to know about it. I can’t handle that right now on top of everything else.

When Haymitch is not here Gale sits with me. His is the company I prefer. He knows the deeper sorrow I carry. Little by little he makes me come out of my deep state of shock and grief but he can’t force me to eat or drink or do anything else to sustain life. Haymitch manages that, mostly because it’s deeply rooted in me still to do what he tells me to do because he knows how to keep me alive. The fact that I don’t _want_ to stay alive doesn’t matter when I’m reacting on instinct.

Eventually I’m well enough to be taken to the Training Centre which is now used as lodging for the revolutionaries. I’m shocked to find the whole place redone, or as shocked as I can be in my current state. It’s almost unrecognizable with most of the elegant furniture gone and many of the rooms having been turned into offices and storage area. I don’t get to sleep in our old quarters, instead I’m taken to the part of the building where the staff used to sleep. The rooms are small but who gives a damn? Mine is two doors away from Gale’s, with Haymitch on the other side of me. For two days I mostly just sit there, unwilling to do anything but grieve and hate the world and myself for surviving. If it had been Prim’s death alone I would probably have been in a worse condition than I am now but the thought of my child’s fate keeps me from breaking apart at the seams. The child might still be alive. It’s hope I have to cling to because the alternative is too horrifying to accept. I volunteered in my sister’s place to spare her from the Hunger Games. I gave my child away to spare his or her life. They can’t both be dead. I can’t have made both those sacrifices in vain.

After two days my mindset begins to change and I find something to focus on. There must be some way of finding out where the baby is. Some documents somewhere that hold the detailed records of the adoption. If I can find out who the adoptive parents are then maybe I can find out where the child is now. I tell Gale what I’m thinking and he agrees that it can be done. I want it done without anybody knowing about it, not ready to divulge my big secret yet. If the child is dead I don’t want Peeta to ever know he or she existed. Somehow I need to find out where the records of adoption are kept but I don’t know how to go about asking for it without rousing suspicion.

My opportunity arises when President Coin decides that all surviving Hunger Games victors shall get a private moment with President Snow before his execution. He is currently on trial, though I suspect that’s merely for show since there’s no way he could ever be spared and nobody probably even cares about the specifics of his crimes anymore. The trial is expected to last another two weeks and when it is over I can get my answers.

Peeta is eventually released from the medical ward. I never went to see him while he was there and I barely acknowledge his return. It’s hard looking at him when I don’t know what happened to our child, nor do I wish to be comforted over Prim. I’m glad to see that he’s doing okay, carrying some scars on his back that I’d rather not know the origins of and with a harrowed look in his weary eyes but looking like he will make a full recovery. That’s all I need to know about him right now. We sleep next to one another at night but during the days I stay away, mostly hiding in closets so that I can be alone. Occasionally Gale finds me there but I don’t want his presence either. Not until I know more about my child’s fate.

I know there are a lot of things going on around us right now, that the revolution is by no means over and that these are busy days for many. My part is done for the moment so I stay away from the proceedings. The Mockingjay is not needed right now. I know nothing about politics and frankly don’t care very much so it’s better left in more competent hands. I emerge from my hiding place when it’s time to eat and time to sleep and three days pass like that without anybody bothering me other than Gale.

On the fourth day since Peeta came back from the medical ward I sit down in the makeshift mess hall and half-heartedly chew my lunch. Peeta sits opposite me and doesn’t say anything while we eat, his mind preoccupied with something. We’ve barely spoken since he came back from the medical ward, me too wrapped up in my pain and troubles and he quickly realizing that if he wants someone to listen and to comfort him he’s not going to find it in me. Like before he seems to accept it without question which makes me mad but I can’t muster up the zest to do anything about it. Gale sits on my right while we eat, talking to a soldier I don’t recognize about something I don’t care about. Halfway through the meal Peeta puts his fork down and gets up.

“I’m not hungry” he mumbles. “Katniss, finish my food if you want to. If anyone wants me I’ll be in our room.”

He leaves the mess and Gale follows him with his eyes. Then he shakes his head and spears a mushroom with his fork.

“It’s sick. Really, it is.”

“Which part?” I ask in a monotone.

“ _Your_ room... I thought it was wrong back in District 13 and I think it’s even more so now.”

“Gale you’re going to have to make some sense if you want me to care about what you’re saying” I say tiredly.

“Wasn’t the point of this for us all to be free? To end the oppression? To stand up against Snow and his people and tell them they can’t dictate our lives anymore?”

“Yeah” I answer absentmindedly, not seeing where he’s going with this.

“Then why is he still going back to _your_ room? You got married to please President Snow. It was never real. You’re being forced to continue living a lie, which flies in the face of everything we were trying to achieve!”

His reasoning and his reaction makes no sense at all to me and it annoys me that he’s bringing it up. It’s been brewing since Thirteen, I can tell, and it baffles me how he can waste time and energy on it. Regardless of what he thinks of my marriage to Peeta my love life is the last thing on my mind at present and so far down on the list of what’s important that I can’t even think about things like that. What did he expect? That I would make having a separate bedroom from Peeta a priority?

“Gale for crying out loud” I say, my irritation showing in my voice. “Regardless of what you may think or feel about it the marriage is legal and valid. We _are_ married. Married people share a room and with the lack of sleeping space around here it would be moronic to make other arrangements.”

“It’s oppression!” exclaims Gale.

“It’s not!” I argue, getting worked up for the first time since I learned about Prim and the child. “We’ve been married for almost three years. Sharing my bed with him is what I’m used to and I don’t mind it for a second. The only one who has a problem with it is _you_.”

Perhaps that comment went too far because he looks at me with a touch of disdain, only that just serves to make me more annoyed. He cocks his head and snorts as he replies.

“Yes it clearly doesn’t bother you in the least that you were forced into marriage and you would happily stay shackled to a guy you don’t love because you find it convenient.”

“Fascinating!” exclaims Johanna Mason, plopping down in the seat Peeta vacated. “Both that the little baker left behind half his lunch – finders keepers – and hearing your little lovers’ spat. Generous of all three of you, really. I could use the food and everyone here could use a bit of mindless drama to keep our mind off things.”

Gale shoots her an angry look but I’ve begun to understand Johanna better by now and I don’t mind what she’s saying. If anything I’m mad at Gale for causing such a scene about something that is so decidedly none of his business. The quick glance Johanna gives me confirms my suspicion, that she’s trying to alert us to the rumours that will start if we keep this up. I turn my eyes to Gale, glaring at him and speaking in a much lower voice than moments ago.

“Until a divorce makes it otherwise Peeta is my husband and regardless of your feelings on the subject we’ve shared a life together for more than two years. It’s not oppression to expect husband and wife to share a bed. It must have escaped you that neither one of us asked for different arrangements.” I rise from my chair and push the rest of my lunch towards Johanna who takes it with a grin. “Keep your petty comments on my marriage to yourself from now on. You’re jealous of something you can’t understand. You always have been. We’re bound to each other, Peeta and me.”

I stop myself before I continue by explaining how we are bound together since it’s about more than just being tributes together. If Peeta means more to me than as a friend, teammate and the father of my child then I can’t define it right now and I can’t see why I should have to. Gale’s presumptive attitude has triggered something in me and for once I’m really fed up with him. Peeta risked his life to draw attention away from us during the attack on the Capitol and Gale should not talk so disrespectfully about him and about a marriage that means more to Peeta than Gale can ever understand, and that means a lot to me as well.

Instead of saying anything else I storm out of the mess hall, hating every single person I see, every person who is in my way. I just want to be back home in District 12, in our old house, with my father and my sister and perhaps my baby too. I hate Gale in this moment for making this even more difficult for me by adding further rocks to my already heavy burden. I storm inside my room and throw myself down sitting on the bed. I pull my legs up under me and hide my face in my hands, then I begin to sob. I cry almost violently, too full of emotions that I can’t properly vent. Why did I have to live when other much better people died? Prim. Boggs. Finnick Odair. Poor Annie will never get to have her happily ever after.

I feel a pair of hands gently land on my shoulders followed by the bed dipping. I had forgotten Peeta was here and I didn’t even see him when I came in. For a moment it feels so unbelievably good to feel his touch, to know that he’s there, and all I want to do is wrap my arms around him and cry into his chest. Then I think of his baby and I can’t bear to be touched by him.

“No!” I cry, sitting up and pushing him away from me with enough force that he loses his balance and falls backwards on the bed.

For a few seconds I’m not sure what will happen. The wounded and startled look on his face nearly breaks my heart but I just know I can’t stand having him comfort me right now. Letting him hold me while I worry if the child I bore him without telling him is alive feels cruel and wrong. I have let him comfort me when I’ve grieved the baby in the past but it’s different this time. He’s still grieving for his parents and brothers and doesn’t know he might have lost something even more important.

Finally Peeta gets up with a sigh and leaves the room, allowing me my privacy. I don’t know where he goes and I know I’m the one who ought to leave since he was here first. Not that it matters now. He’s already left and I’m relieved to be alone. I crawl further up on the bed and lay down, curling up in a foetal position, remembering the night more than three years ago when I had given birth and was all alone, crying and desperately longing for my baby and the baby’s father.

If only I had made a different choice. If only I had told Peeta about the pregnancy, made them speed up the wedding before anyone could tell I was pregnant and kept the child once it was born. The child would be safe now. The Hunger Games are over and the children in the districts are free and safe. They have a future. Ironically my baby would have been safer staying with me than adopted by a Capitol couple. It’s a lot to wrap my mind around and a lot to come to terms with.

I lay there for hours, still in the same position when Peeta comes back. I don’t say a word to him, only acknowledging his presence by getting under the covers and scooting closer to the wall so he can have room on the bed. I hear and feel him lie down behind me, hear his resigned sigh and welcome the darkness that follows when he snuffs the candle out. For all intents and purposes we might as well have separate rooms.

 

 

I walk slowly down the hallway, the same one I ran through with Gale moments before the bomb went off. The numbness I’ve felt all morning has begun to be overshadowed by a combination of hatred and nervousness. Snow’s trial is over, he has been found guilty and in three days I will execute him down in the palace yard. Today the surviving victors will all get their moment with him, in order of Game partaken in. I go before Peeta. Ladies first. This is the moment I have been waiting for. Alone time with Snow. No cameras, no recording devices, no peacekeepers or other personnel in the room. Just him and me. Now is the time when I find out of my child lived or died.

My heart is pounding so hard in my chest that I barely hear anything other than my own heartbeat in my ears. The soldiers standing guard outside the room where the meetings take place nod at me but I barely see them. Outside it’s a cold November day and they say it might snow later on but I’m barely aware autumn has turned to winter. When this meeting is over I might finally be able to live again. Either that or I will stick it out until the execution and then find some way of putting an end to my own life.

My hand trembles a little as I reach out and grab the doorknob. The room is not locked since they know Snow can’t escape. The area is too heavily guarded and according to the rumours Snow is too weak. President Coin seems to think it’s an added torment to leave the door unlocked, a form of cruel temptation. I could care less about any of that. Snow will get his punishment in three days but not before I have my answers.

I don’t know what I expected but when I walk inside the room President Coriolanus Snow is barely recognizable from the snakelike man I’ve feared and hated for so long. He looks weak and sickly, like a fragile old man who couldn’t do anybody any harm. He hasn’t washed in a day or two, his beard and hair look un-kept and he sits hunched forward over the bare table in front of him. His clothes are of the same kind he normally wears but they look wrinkled. Now that I see him it’s clear that they could keep every door open between this room and the city boarders and he still wouldn’t be able to escape. He’s been equipped with shackles on his feet, manacles, tracking devices. He looks up at me but doesn’t straighten his back or even lift his head. He does, however, cackle.

“Katniss Everdeen, the little Mockingjay” he laughs. “You must hate me more than all the rest of them do, don’t you?”

Not in the mood for any of his nonsense I walk over to the table and put my hands down on the hard wooden surface.

"I only have one thing to say to you.”

“Pity. I have a lot of things to say to you.”

“My child” I say. “Was my child among those who died in the bombing?”

“How should I know?” asks Snow with a grin and leans back in his chair, looking up at me while he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Oh you know” I reply. “I know that you do so don’t mess around with me.”

He studies me with a smile and then shrugs his left shoulder as if it couldn’t possibly matter if he tells me what I want to know or not.

“I once told you that I will never lie to you” he says. “The adoptive parents live in the suburbia and either stayed put or got out long before you arrived.”

I almost crumble where I stand, the relief so profound that my knees weaken and my arms can barely hold me up. I close my eyes and let out the breath I hadn’t known I was holding. My child had no reason to be in the city. My child is most likely still alive. It takes a moment for me to pull myself together and when I do the first thing I’m aware of is Snow’s grin.

“Oh I’m not finished, Ms. Everdeen. You’ll want to hear the rest.”

The relief is gone as fast as it came and I glare at him with renewed fire and hatred.

“Then tell me.”

He smirks at me and begins to speak in a anecdotal tone.

“You might have wondered how come I didn’t expose your big secret when you stepped forward as the figurehead of the rebellion. Believe me, my dear, I was tempted. The problem was that it would be my word against yours. The people already on your side would think that I made the whole thing up to slander you, including falsifying birth records.”

“Oh” I manage, intrigued to find the answers to some of the questions that have been on my mind but eager to move forward with the conversation.

“I needed to make a bigger splash with the reveal” continues Snow. “Plant the seeds of doubt. I needed your husband.”

My mouth goes dry.

“Why?” I manage to ask.

“It would have been sensational. Picture him, live on stage, presented with his wife’s bastard child. Even _he_ would have wondered and all I needed was that small fraction of a second. If people saw that the Mockingjay’s husband believed it was true, if only for an instant, then that would be enough.”

“I will enjoy shooting that arrow through your heart” I say with venom, thinking of all the pain I have suffered because of this man.

“I’m sure you will” says Snow. “You wouldn’t lie to me any more than I would lie to you, would you, Katniss?”

“I will do it for all the tributes who have died in the arena. For the parents of the children who did die in the bombing.”

His right eyebrow rises.

“You think I was involved in that?”

“Of course you were” I snort.

“What makes you so sure, Katniss? It was all over when those bombs fell. I was moments away from releasing my official surrender, though I suppose you and your lover might have caught up with me before I had the chance to. Rather selfish of you, wasn’t it? Denying the rest of Panem the thrill of watching me die. Denying your fellow victors their time of hating at me, screaming at me, spitting on me.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” I ask.

“You don’t _actually_ think I gave the order, do you?” says Snow calmly. “What purpose would that have served?”

“You’ve never needed a purpose” I counter.

“Wrong, my dear. I _always_ have a purpose. The deaths I’ve been responsible for have always been for _something_ , no matter how arbitrary it might seem to you. Yes, the Hunger Games too. What reason would I have to destroy a pen of Capitol children? None at all, Katniss.”

“Then you have very poor control of what your people are doing” I say lamely, not sure what else to think. Something is beckoning for my attention out of the things he just said but I can’t put my finger to what and I’m not sure I want to either. I’d rather go back to simply hating him for murdering my little sister and those innocent children.

“We both know that’s not the case. I’m in complete control of my people and so is Coin. It was brilliant on her part; I must admire it. If there was still any frail allegiance between my people and me that broke when they believed I was bombing our own helpless children. Plus there’s the added benefit of knowing that if you kill a child the parents might be so grief-stricken that they fall apart. It seems to have worked on you and you only _worried_ that your child was in that pen; you didn’t know it for absolute certain.”

He keeps talking, keeps explaining, but I can’t comprehend what he says. Why would President Coin drop those bombs and kill much needed medical personnel, not to mention all those children? This whole rebellion has been about _saving_ our children. Yet the more he talks the more I have to admit there’s some logic to what he says, no matter how painful. The bombing of the children aired live on TV. Just the sort of PR event Beetee, Plutarch and Coin would go crazy over. Just the sort of thing that would turn the tide for good and give the victory to us.

“You know,” says Snow, bringing my attention back to him, “I wouldn’t be entirely surprised if President Coin somehow knew about your little secret.”

My panicked eyes shoot up at him and he chuckles, clearly enjoying the way he can play my emotions.

“She doesn’t” I say confidently. “Why on earth would she have that knowledge?”

“Oh I’m not saying she _does_ ” smiles Snow. “At least, I don’t know for sure. However, she did seem... shall I say... to be playing into my hands a little too well. I wanted to get my hands on your husband and she practically delivered him to me on a silver platter. Did it not seem strange to you that she would send him out in the city like that? Of course, she might just have been wanting to break you. I don’t know that I care too much either way. I got what I wanted and if the rebels hadn’t broken through when they did we would have had that broadcast.”

“Who would have even been watching at that point?” I snarl, though I remember seeing Caesar Flickerman on the stage, preparing for a broadcast.

Snow chuckles, coughs and then begins to explain what they had planned to do. I’m only half-listening. The idea that Peeta might have been backstage at the same time as my child makes me almost dizzy, if the child was in fact there at the time. One of us just a few breaths away from our son or daughter. Did Snow intend to keep them apart until it was showtime or did he plan on letting them meet and then drop the bomb on Peeta?

I hear Snow reveal how the soundstage was immediately evacuated when the bombs fell and how disappointed he was not to get to share the big news with my husband. No longer having any use for Peeta they apparently took him through underground tunnels to where they were holding all prisoners and had their way with him with the intention of showing him wounded and broken and offering him as a trade of some sort. That never happened. Instead they got interrupted and Peeta was rescued, but not before being subjected to what was at least an hour of torture, maybe more.

I can’t stand there and listen for another second. Somehow Snow has gotten the upper hand on me and I need to leave before he keeps talking, before he reveals any other dark truths I’d rather not be aware of. He’s in the middle of saying something when I straighten my back, turn on my heel and march towards the door.

“Oh, one more thing!” his voice says and against my better judgment I stop. “It’s remarkable how much Gale’s child resembles Peeta Mellark.”

I turn my head and stare at him in horror. He’s laughing, laughing until he begins to cough, lifting a blood-stained handkerchief to his mouth. My mouth is completely dry and my heart beats hard in my chest. Does he know? Or is he bluffing? He tries to say something else, something about how I broke our deal not to lie to one another, but the coughs make it impossible for him to get anything fully intelligible out. I decide I don’t want to hear it anyway and storm out of the room as fast as I can.

Once I’m out in the hall and the door has shut behind me I begin to hyperventilate, leaning forward with my hands on my knees. President Snow knows the child is Peeta’s! Has he known all along or did he visit the child once the rebellion began? I don’t fear that he’s done anything to harm the child because he would have told me, if for no other reason than to see the look on my face and know that I have to live with it for the rest of my life. Even so, the thought of Snow going to visit my child sends chills down my spine and makes me feel nauseous.

“Katniss are you alright?” asks Peeta, waiting for his turn with Snow.

I lift my head and see him standing there a few yards away, looking at me with eyes full of concern. Perhaps I should feel relieved that his son or daughter is still alive out there somewhere but the news that Snow knows who the real father is has floored me, the drop that finally made the cup run over.

About ten yards behind Peeta stands Gale. I didn’t know he would be here but he must have come to make sure I’m okay and to find out what I learned from Snow. I straighten up and walk fast, almost jogging, towards him. I pass by Peeta without so much as a look, noticing in the corner of my eye how he turns around, and I go straight into Gale’s arms, breaking down in tears. At that moment I forget everything else that’s going around and just sob. Gale shushes me gently, lifts me up into his arms and carries me away to someplace where we can talk in private.

 

 

I don’t know for how long I sit on Gale’s lap, crying against his shoulder with his strong arms around me. For the moment I have forgotten the other, actually more shocking, things that Snow told me. Later on it will come back to me and I will think about what it really means but right now all that is in my head and heart is that my child lives and Snow knows the truth. When I’m finally able to form comprehensive sentences I look up at Gale, snivelling, and wipe my nose.

“He knows, Gale. He knows who the real father is.”

“Are you sure?” asks Gale. “He’s not just bluffing?”

I shake my head and grab his shirt with my fist, finding it comforting to hold on to him.

“I’m sure. He said... He said... He said it’s funny how your child is the spitting image of Peeta. That’s what he said.”

Gale doesn’t seem alarmed by this news. Instead a bit of a smile spreads across his face.

“So... The kid is alive, then?”

My own face turns into a smile so suddenly it surprises me a little.

“Yes” I say, laughing a little. “Yes, my kid is alive.”

“That’s amazing!” cheers Gale. “I’m so happy for you, Catnip! That is fantastic news!”

I laugh again and sit myself up, moving so that I’m no longer on his lap but facing him. He looks ecstatic and his joy makes me realize that perhaps it doesn’t matter if Snow knows who the father is. The child is still alive and Snow is going to be gone in just a few days.

“It feels wrong to be laughing right now” I say. “With everything, with Prim... I just can’t help feeling happy about this, Gale.”

“Of course you’re happy. You _need_ to be happy. Katniss your plan worked. Your child is safe. Did you ask him about the archives? If we can find the parents?”

“No” I say, shaking my head. “It didn’t seem to matter.”

“Didn’t seem to matter? If the archives are intact we might actually be able to find this kid. Katniss, you can have your baby back.”

The smile leaves my face but Gale looks very excited about the prospect. I avert my eyes from his, focusing on a spider spinning its web in a corner of the wall we’re sitting by. The thought has crossed my mind more than once but I know it can’t happen that way.

“No Gale” I say, pained at even having to utter the words. “What’s done is done. I gave the child away.”

“To save it from the Hunger Games. Now you can have your kid back.”

“Take a child from its parents? The only parents he or she has known? That would be cruel, Gale!”

“Maybe if the kid had been older, but we’re talking about a three year-old.”

“Three year-olds don’t get attached to their parents? Besides, what do I have to offer? A broken wreck of a woman, mourning her sister and her friends and everything good that was lost. The same woman who was the figurehead of the rebellion that uprooted this child’s whole way of life. I can barely be a wife right now, much less a mother. I don’t even know that I have a home back in District 12 anymore! I don’t know what I will do for a living or where my next meal is going to come from. I don’t know how to connect with a child I’ve never even laid eyes on.”

“All that will work itself out” says Gale gently. He seems to genuinely believe it and gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“No, it won’t.”

“It will. After everything you’ve done, for your loved ones and for Panem, I don’t believe there’s anything you _can’t_ do.”

“I can’t be a mom” I say, fighting to keep myself from crying again. It’s a truth that’s hard enough to admit to myself and unbearable to admit to Gale. “Especially not to this child. We’re not talking about an infant. We’re talking about somebody who has become a little person with likes and dislikes and a personality and who talks and expresses himself or herself. Somebody who has bonded with the adoptive parents and see them as the rock, the glue that holds the world together. How would you have felt if somebody had come along and taken you from your parents when you were a kid, even if those who took you _were_ your biological parents?”

He lets my words sink in and then he sighs heavily, leaning back against the wall and shifting so that his legs are stretched out in front of him.

“It’s not fair, Katniss. You of all people deserve to have a happy ending. You deserve to have your child back.”

“Maybe” I say, far from convinced. I don’t think of myself as particularly deserving of a happy ending and I don’t think you can argue that either me or the adoptive mother is more _deserving_ of raising the child. “But the child deserves better than to be uprooted like that.” I sigh and lean my brow on my right palm. I feel a headache coming on to go along with the dull ache in my heart. “What would I even tell Peeta? I can’t bring our child home without telling him the truth, especially if they look so much alike.” Then another thought occurs to me and sends me into a panic. “Oh God Gale! Peeta went in there after me. What if Snow told him everything?”

“So what if he did?” asks Gale, surprisingly calm at the thought. “Peeta has no reason to believe him. No reason to think it is anything other than a lie to turn him against you. If there’s one thing I’ve never doubted it’s _his_ devotion to _you_ and I don’t think anybody could make him believe something about you that he didn’t want to believe.”

“Snow could still be able to convince him.”

“Then you’ll convince him otherwise.”

“If he asks, if he mentions it at all, I can’t lie to him.”

“You’ve kept it from him for this long” says Gale. “What difference does it make if you deny it now? Besides, they have other things to talk about. Snow had him tortured. That’s got to be enough fodder for conversation between them.”

I cringe at the thought of the torture I know so little about. I’ve seen the scars on Peeta’s back but I’ve never asked about them because I don’t want to know. What difference does it make if I _do_ know? I can’t erase what’s past. All we can do is live with the scars we carry.

Gale assures me again that it will be okay and that Snow won’t tell Peeta the truth. I don’t dare to believe it for sure and a tight knot forms in my stomach. I suppose I will find out this evening when I meet up with Peeta in bed but the idea of sleeping next to him tonight makes me sick to my stomach. What if he does know? How will he react? What will he think, what will he say? Can I face his reaction and the loss of his love and affection? And if he doesn’t know, how can I lay there next to him tonight and say nothing? There’s no longer the matter of keeping him in the dark to protect the baby. I do believe it is better that Peeta doesn’t know the truth and doesn’t have to feel the same pain I do at knowing we can’t have our child back but it is also a betrayal not to tell him. It always has been, it’s just more pronounced now.

“Come, let’s get out of here before people start looking for us” says Gale and rises from the floor. He holds out his hand and I take it. “It will be alright, Catnip. In a few days Snow will be dead and nothing can harm your child anymore. Nothing.”

 

 

I can’t spend the night sleeping next to Peeta. I know I can’t. I can’t sleep in Gale’s room either because I can’t handle any gossip or rumours right now. After I’ve said goodnight to Gale I wander the corridors, remembering previous times when I have been in this building, wishing that I could have just been killed in the 74th Hunger Games and spared everyone, myself included, so much pain and death. Now that I know my child is safe I can think about Prim, even though it’s so painful it almost takes my breath away. I almost go back to my own room and find Peeta’s embrace to cry into but I remind myself I can’t do that. What if he has learned the truth from Snow? I can’t face him tonight.

Instead I find a closet with enough space for me to lie down if I curl myself up a bit and I lay there for what feels like forever, crying for my little sister and for the child I can never have back and for my husband who might now know about our child and might hate me for what I have done. I haven’t been very good at crying, not since Prim’s death, but once I’ve begun it’s like I can’t stop. I cry until I have no more tears to shed, until my throat begins to feel hoarse and my head begins to ache.

When I finally fall asleep it’s from sheer exhaustion from my tears, not because I’m comfortable or felt very tired before I stepped inside the closet. I wake up early, groggy and with an aching head as well as stiff and aching limbs. Reluctantly I pull myself up to a sitting position and then up on my feet. I can’t stay here. I don’t know what time it is but it is quiet outside in the corridor and I need to leave the closet now before somebody finds me here or sees me leaving.

Not knowing where to go or even whether I look okay or like a complete mess I head to the mess hall. Only a scarce few people are there and there’s not too much food left which indicates that it’s not early morning. I get my breakfast and sit down, staring at the food with not the slightest bit of appetite. I manage to get down three bites from a roll of bread and half of the small omelette. The rest I leave, pushing my tray away from me on the table, almost sickened by the sight of food.

“Katniss!” says Gale’s voice behind me and I turn around and look at him. He looks concerned as he walks up to the table where I’m sitting all by myself. “What happened to you? You look like crap.” He sits down next to me and runs a hand through my messy hair. “Peeta asked me if I knew where you were last night. Said you didn’t come back to your room.”

“I couldn’t face him” I mumbled.

“So you should have come to me.”

“I wanted to be alone” I say and it’s only partly a lie.

Gale sits silently for a moment, shifting awkwardly in his chair and looking for a spot to fixate his eyes on. Then he looks at me, glances at my abandoned tray of breakfast and runs a hand through his thick, dark hair.

“You’re going to have to face him sooner or later” he points out. “He didn’t seem upset. Only concerned.”

“Fine” I sigh, getting up from my chair and realizing I need to get some proper rest. “I’m going to go lie down.”

“Or you could go and talk to him” urges Gale. “He’s in the kitchen, apparently crafting tiny little flowers out of butter. Something about therapy for the mind, I don’t know...”

“I’ll talk to him later” I say in a monotone and walk slowly out of the room.

“Katniss” I hear Gale saying.

I turn, give him half a smile and assures him that I’m just tired. He gets up and follows me, walking me back to my room. He wants to come with me inside and at first I protest but when he wraps his arms around me and I feel the comfort of the embrace of a person whose love and affection I don’t worry about losing I change my mind. I open the door and walk inside, climbing up on the bed I share with Peeta. Gale grabs a blanket from the foot of the bed and wraps it around me while I curl up with my face to the wall. With my eyes closed I take a whiff of the blanket and marvel at how it doesn’t just smell of fabric but also a bit of Peeta. He really is everywhere, a presence in my life that will never not be there. Even though he’s not with me right now it feels a tiny bit like he’s here to comfort me when his smell is in my nose. I wish I could relax and not be plagued by the big secret I’m keeping from him but all the guilt I’ve felt over the past three years washes over me at once and it almost makes me cry again.

I hear Gale sitting down on the floor. There’s no small table and chairs in this room like there was in our room in District 13. I’m glad he’s there, offering me comfort by his presence but not trying to touch me to console me. I can have my space and feel content with that.

I soon fall asleep and when I wake up at least a few hours have gone by. Even so I don’t feel fully rested and I frown, wondering what woke me up. I edge over on my back and see Peeta rummaging through a drawer with a grim look on his face while Gale watches silently. A pang of guilt hits me. What must he think? I never came to bed last night and now here I am sleeping through the day with Gale watching over me. Peeta doesn’t look very pleased but he doesn’t say anything even though I could hardly blame him if he had something really harsh to say.

He finds whatever he was looking for, closes the drawer and then sees that I’m awake. I brace myself for whatever he is about to say and for Gale’s reaction to it. Somehow I don’t think Gale would stay quiet if we began to argue and it’s not hard to guess whose side he would be on, no matter how entitled Peeta is to be mad at me. But Peeta doesn’t say anything unfriendly to me. He just walks back to the door, stopping with his hand on the doorknob and giving me a resigned look.

“Sorry I woke you” he says. “Go back to sleep.”

He looks so sad and tired that I feel my heart aching for him. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own pain that I’ve barely given a thought to his. He had grown close with Prim over the years and had a brother/sister kind of relationship with her so I know he grieves her too and he probably can’t understand why I don’t turn to him with my own grief. We lost a family member; we should look to each other in times like these. Instead I pull away from him and leave him to deal with whatever he is feeling without my support. Then there’s the torture he suffered at the hands of Snow. If he ever needed his wife to be there and soothe his torment, ease his pain and hold him until the nightmares go away it is right now and I’m not there. The worst part is that he probably accepts it because he doesn’t expect anything different.

The strong impulse to get up from the bed and wrap him in my arms is blocked when some part of my brain alerts me to the enormous issue he still knows nothing about. Before I can make up my mind if I should try and put that from my mind and just be there for him he has opened the door and walked out. I sit up and pull my legs up towards me, wrapping my arms around my knees. Somehow I feel even worse now than I did this morning.

“He’s right” says Gale. “You should go back to sleep.”

I shake my head. I can’t sleep right now, my mind is too wrapped up in thoughts of Peeta and my grave failures as a wife and friend. I tell Gale I need some air and some time to myself and against his protests I get up and leave the room, heading for the roof. The air is bitter cold up there and a light snowfall chills me even further but I don’t mind much. Physical discomfort is much easier to bear than emotional and the worse I feel physically the less focus I have on my emotional pain.

I stand up there for almost an hour, looking out over the city. It’s so different now from the bright, shining, sparkling wonder Peeta and I saw from the roof of the training centre all those years ago. It is now a city in ruins where the people out on the streets are dressed in ragged garments or the long overcoats shipped in from District Thirteen. The black, grey and brown fabrics could not be further from the colourful palette from years ago.

When I finally head back downstairs it’s almost too late to get any dinner and I have to hurry to the mess hall to get my tray. The fresh air has given me a bit of an appetite in spite of everything that’s going on and since I haven’t eaten properly for days it’s probably best not to skip dinner when there’s a chance I might get all of it down. The mess is almost empty when I arrive but I get my tray of chicken and overcooked pasta and manage to get most of it down.

After I’m done eating and a young man has been by to take my tray I stay in my seat for a while, mulling over what to do next. I don’t want to spend another night in the closet and I know that Gale is right and I have to talk to Peeta at one point or another. The reasonable thing to do is go back to our room and find out what he talked to Snow about. Maybe nothing damaging was revealed. Maybe we can seek comfort in each other tonight and help ease each other’s pain.

I expect him to be in our room when I get back since it’s past eight o’clock and he’s been tired lately. When I don’t see a sight of him I figure he’s with Haymitch and I’m glad he at least has our mentor to turn to when I fail him. Since I expect him to return at any minute I make myself ready for bed and climb in under the blanket, leaning back against the wall as I wait for him to arrive.

When it’s closing in on midnight I acknowledge that he’s not going to show up. Apparently he figured out that he was the reason I stayed away last night but I don’t dare to guess if he knows the reason _why_ I didn’t come back to our room. Because he is Peeta he has decided to let me have the room while he sleeps elsewhere. With Haymitch? With one of the other surviving victors? On the floor somewhere?

I snuff out the light, scoot down until I’m laying down and feel tears burning in my eyes. He has enough burdens to carry right now and thanks to me he doesn’t feel like he can come to his allotted room and sleep in his assigned bed. If he’s still in the dark about our child, which I presume that he is since his demeanour earlier in the day showed no signs of fury or betrayal, the only reason I can think of why he would stay away is to indulge me. He must be so confused as to why I’m withdrawing from him this way and because I can’t tell him the reason why he will only ever have his imagination to fill in the blanks.

With a weary sigh I close my eyes and try not to sob. I’ve cried enough already. Crying is not going to bring my sister back to life or change the decision I once made about my baby. Tears are as useless now as when we were starving and my mother couldn’t be brought from her depression.

At least one cathartic event will take place in a couple of days. Once my arrow has pierced Snow I will have gotten a smidgen of payback for my sister, my son or daughter and all the pain my husband and I have been put through.

 

 

I don’t see Peeta again until the day of Snow’s execution. It deeply unnerves me that he is nowhere to be found, giving me space when I no longer feel as strong a need for it. When I go to bed the night before the execution I can’t seem to sleep, longing for the comfort of Peeta’s arms around me and his steady breathing next to me. When I wake up in the morning I feel a loneliness in my chest that is physically painful, almost suffocating, and once again I wish I could get to die as well. Maybe if they dress me up in the Mockingjay costume I could swallow my nightlock pill after the big show. It seems quite fitting, to have the last thing I do in life be to rob President Snow of his.

A knock on the door brings me out of my lethargy and makes me slowly and reluctantly lift the blanket aside and get up off the cot. I know it can’t be Peeta since he wouldn’t knock, or at least I hope he wouldn’t. When I open the door and find Cinna standing there I almost feel a bit better but not even the realization that he’s here to get me ready for my last performance as the Mockingjay can lift my spirits.

I dress in my room with Cinna adjusting my outfit here and there. There’s no prep team available, at least none from the Capitol. They were all executed during the war, presumably as punishment to us rebellious victors. The thought of Venia, Flavius and Octavia being executed for the crime of having been my prep team would make me sick to my stomach under other circumstances but as it is they’re just three more names in a far too long list of people who are dead because of me and whose faces I will see in my nightmares. At least Cinna is alive, and thank God for that. He takes me from my room to the second floor where they used to prep mentors who wanted to look their best when they went out and smooth-talked sponsors. Noxia, a small, silent girl I remember vaguely from District 13, applies light makeup to my face and then a man I don’t recognize braids my hair for me. I suppose I look the part now. Funny that even now I can’t be allowed to kill without looking my best.

Cinna hands me my bow and a single arrow. I look at it for a moment, a little confused as to why I’m not given a full quiver.

“It’s symbolic” explains Cinna without me having to ask. “You, firing the last shot of the war. Snow being the final victim.”

“What if I miss?” I ask.

“You won’t” answers Cinna. He puts his hands on my shoulders and leans his head in to mine, our foreheads touching for a brief moment and I feel the same kind of support from him that I felt in the launch room all those years ago.

“Okay” I whisper. “Time to start the show, I guess.”

He puts a hand on my back and leads me out of the room. We go down to the basement level where a car is waiting to take me to the palace where the execution is to take place. Cinna stays with me but doesn’t try to talk and I have nothing to say right now either. I stare vacantly out the tinted car windows, simultaneously hating the sight of the once beautiful city now destroyed and feeling relieved that there no longer is a shiny Capitol to oppress the districts.

Once we reach the palace Cinna informs me that I have a meeting to attend before I step out on the courtyard and I try to hide my exasperation. No doubt Plutarch has arranged a production meeting to discuss camera angles, tell me what my cue to shoot will be and perhaps put a final touch to which prominent attendee will be positioned where. When Cinna opens the door to the meeting room I’m surprised to find eight people sitting around a table and when I hear the door closing behind me I know Cinna is on the other side of it. At the table sit only victors. The first face my eyes land on is Peeta but our eyes don’t meet since he is busy staring at his hands with a weary look on his face. Next to him sits Haymitch, then Johanna, Beetee, Annie and three other victors named Lyme, Enobaria and Frey. It doesn’t really make sense to me and my eyes find Haymitch, hoping for answers.

“What is all this?” I ask.

“We’re not sure” he answers. “President Coin called us all here. Appears to be a gathering of the remaining victors.”

“So who hasn’t arrived yet?”

“I think you’re the last one, sweetheart.”

“You mean... we’re all that’s left?”

“Nobody trusted the Hunger Games’ victors” says Beetee. “President Snow implemented what can only be described as a victors’ _purge_ , taking out anyone they thought was working with the rebels. The rebels, in turn, killed anyone they thought had allied with the Capitol.”

I look at Enobaria and Frey and from the corner of my eye I see that Johanna seems to be doing the same.

“Those two were not in Thirteen” she remarks in a sour tone. “What kind of deal did they cut to survive?”

Before anybody can answer her a door on the opposite end of the room opens and President Coin steps into the room. She tells me to sit and I do as told, choosing an empty chair between Annie and Beetee. There’s a chair empty next to Peeta but at this point I’m not sure if he’s giving me space or if he wants space from me.

“Today is a big day” says Coin, which sounds just as macabre to me as any other time I’ve heard words like that used in connotation with people being killed. “The execution of Snow will be the first step towards healing. The executions of his lackeys and accomplices in the upcoming days and weeks will bring us a few steps closer. However these measures seem meek compared to the suffering of all the people Snow and his henchmen have oppressed over the years. I have summoned the nine of you today to help settle a debate. Many people are clamouring for harsher payback. For the complete annihilation of our oppressors, just as they attempted to do with District 13 eighty years ago and like they did with Districts 12, 8 and 5 earlier this year. I’m talking about killing everyone who held Capitol citizenship, save for those who actively took part in the rebellion.” My chest tightens at the thought but Coin continues talking before I can begin to panic. “This is not something we wish to do. We cannot maintain a sustainable population if every Capitol citizen is annihilated. Instead, an alternative has been placed on the table.”

“What kind of an alternative?” asks Johanna.

“Let me finish” says Coin, annoyed at the interruption. “It has been debated, argued, back and forth among myself and my colleagues. Since we can’t reach a consensus we agreed to let the victors decide. A majority of five will approve the plan. All nine must cast their vote. The plan you will be voting for or against is a final, symbolic Hunger Games held in lieu of eliminating the entire population of the Capitol.”

Nine heads turn to her, all showing the same surprised face.

“What?” says Johanna.

“Are you joking?” asks Peeta.

“No” says Coin, placing her hands on the table and leaning forward. “Half of the children will be directly related to those who held the most power.”

“The other half?” asks Peeta.

“Selected through a reaping where all Capitol children are entered. Not just those from ages twelve to eighteen. All Capitol citizens should feel what the people of the districts have felt every year at the reapings, regarding of what age their children are, and with half of the children being related to those who held power we guarantee that a significant number of them will have to live the nightmare of district parents.”

“Wait, you’re talking _toddlers_ in the arena?” asks Frey incredulously.

 “Possibly” nods Coin. “Anybody over the age of two would be eligible. Though just like with the district reapings age would bring you more slots. Each child’s name would be entered once for each year they’ve lived.”

My mouth feels completely dry and I can barely contain the panic that spreads through me. Every child. Every single child over the age of two eligible. Including my own precious three year-old. I look over at Peeta and try to force myself to breathe normally. Our baby in the arena. This cannot be happening. Not after everything I’ve gone through in order to prevent just that. Sure three slips in a reaping bowl is not much considering how many names would be going in there but there would also be six girls and six boys reaped instead of one of each. My child might have been adopted by prominent citizens, putting his or her name in the other reaping bowls with much fewer children entered. The thought sickens me to my core. It would have done so even without my own child on the line but as it stands it’s nothing short of barbaric even within the Games themselves. I can’t help but wonder about what Snow said. About the possibility of Coin knowing I have a child somewhere in the city. She wouldn’t do this if she did know, would she?

“There’s one more thing” says Coin. “If the Games are held it will be known that the final decision rested on you; that the surviving victors approved. We won’t reveal who voted for and who voted against and we expect you to keep silent on that matter, for everybody’s safety, but the public needs to know that the tributes who lived approve of it.”

“Who thought this up?” asks Haymitch. “Plutarch?”

“I did” answers Coin. “One way or another people need to see the Capitol shed some blood.” She pauses for a few seconds. “You may cast your votes.”

“Absolutely not!” cries Peeta. “I vote no. I would have voted no regardless of how you wanted to do it, but _two year-olds_? No more Hunger Games, for anybody, of any age!”

“I vote yes” says Johanna. “The Capitol deserves to feel what we’ve felt for almost eighty years. Snow has a granddaughter. Two year-olds won’t get reaped, the odds are too heavy against it. They’ll just be entered so that all parents in the Capitol can feel what we’ve felt.”

“I vote yes” Enobaria chimes in. “Let them know what it’s been like on the other side. We all know they rigged reapings and put the children of victors in the arena more often than plausible. What’s stopping us from doing the same?”

“Decency” answers Lyme. “Everything that makes us different from them. I vote no. If we hold another Hunger Games we are no better than they are.”

“Exactly!” exclaims Peeta. “What did we rebel for if we’re just going to let the Games go on? This is madness.”

“I’m with Peeta and Lyme” says Annie. “I vote no. So would Finnick if he was still here.”

“You can thank Snow for his absence” says Johanna. “You can pay him back for Finnick’s death by letting him die knowing his granddaughter will fight in the arena.”

“I vote no” says Beetee. “We have to stop viewing each other as enemies or Panem will never... We can’t heal by inflicting more damage.”

“We’re down to Katniss, Frey and Haymitch” says Coin.

“I vote yes” says Frey. “Settle the score.”

My mind tries to picture the three year-old child who will have his or her name in the reaping thrice. What are the odds for that child? Good? Bad? Getting reaped at age three would be the same as certain death. How did the discussion go nearly eighty years ago when Snow and his fellows made the decision to have the Games in the first place? How did they decide what age was an appropriate ago to be eligible for slaughter in an arena? Has anything really changed since then? Did those people back then feel as passionately about settling scores as Frey, Johanna and Enobaria do now? If either Haymitch or I vote no then it is decided. If both of us vote yes a different decision will be made.

I think about my child. Three slots among what must be thousands. I think about my sister. The one slot she had the year of the 74th Games. I think about Coin and Snow and everything that has happened over the past months and years.

“I vote yes...” I say, my fingers playing with the arrow that will end Snow’s life as soon as this meeting is over. “For Prim.”

“Katniss!” exclaims Peeta. He immediately realizes it’s futile to argue with me now and turns to Haymitch instead, hammering him with the atrocity he could be party to. Haymitch doesn’t seem to listen to him at all. His eyes are focused on me. We are so alike, Haymitch and me, but does he truly understand me in this moment? He doesn’t know the full reason behind my decision.

“I’m with the Mockingjay” he says.

“Excellent” says Coin, sounding pleased with the decision that has been made. “Now, then. We should take our places for the execution. Before you shoot, Katniss, I will announce the final Games. Let that be the last thing Coriolanus Snow is aware of.”

“No” says Haymitch. “It would take focus from the moment. Tell Snow before he is led out to the square but don’t tell the rest of Panem until later.”

“Very well” nods Coin. “Now, all of you, let’s move.”

I feel Peeta’s eyes burning on me as we leave the meeting room and head for the City Square. Haymitch might understand but Peeta never will. Not that it matters. He must already have a really low opinion of me at this point.

Feeling surprisingly calm I take my place out in the square, my face studying Snow as President Coin reads the charges he has been found guilty of. If he is mortified over the final Games or worried for his granddaughter he doesn’t show it. If anything he looks entertained, as if he finds it humorous that we would make such a decision when one of the largest reasons why we’re executing him is the fact that he made a similar decision almost eighty years ago.

I place my arrow on the bowstring and pull back, carefully taking my aim. There’s no longer any doubt in my mind as to what my next move will be. Then, when I get the cue from Plutarch, I turn the bow upward and fire it at President Coin.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be the first to admit that having Snow's execution end up the same way as in canon is extremely lazy on my part... I don't really have an "excuse" for it either =) I can, however, promise that from this point on the storyline won't follow canon anymore other than a few minor details.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! I'd be happy to hear your thoughts.


	10. Chapter 10

When the door to my room opens I don’t bother looking up to see who it is. I’ve been kept in a tribute’s bedroom in the old Training Centre since the assassination and every day somebody has been in to administer some form of medication that I assume is meant to keep me from going insane. If they even think I can go more insane, that is.

 What happened after I shot Coin is mostly a blur. The first two or three seconds there was nothing but dead silence. Then the cackle of Snow. Then chaos. I was grabbed from behind and something injected into my arm causing me to black out. I remember my last thought being that when I wake up again it will no doubt be me strapped to a pole awaiting execution but I couldn’t muster up the energy to care. What does it matter if I die? My sister is gone. My child is beyond my reach. I’m useless as a wife and it will be better for Peeta anyway to be my widower than to still be married to that victor from District 12 who went insane and shot the wrong president.

I don’t regret what I did. Coin had to die or nothing would ever change and my child would never be safe. The thought of all the things President Snow implied about her still burns in my mind. That she ordered the bombing of the children. That she deliberately put Prim in harm’s way. The possibility that she had information about me having given a child up for adoption and wanted me to think that child was one of the casualties. The possibility that she wanted my child to end up in the arena at the age of three. It requires no stretch of the imagination to tie that together with her decision to send Peeta on a veritable suicide mission. What I still don’t understand is why.

“Get up!” urges a voice that’s familiar, but that I haven’t heard since I’ve been confined to this room. “Now. Get up.”

I wearily lift my head from its resting place on my hands and see Haymitch standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, grim expression on his face. So this is it. They sent Haymitch of all people to take me to my execution. I pull myself up to rest on my elbow, which takes effort, then struggle to get up to a sitting position. For whatever amount of time that has passed between this moment and the moment when the needle was jammed into my arm I’ve been laying in the same position, only moving to eat and use the bathroom. I would have been perfectly happy to do neither of those things but they’ve been making sure that I sustain myself, probably feeling that I don’t deserve to die on my own terms when they can make an example out of me through public execution. Once I’m sitting up Haymitch strides over and roughly pushes the dirty, tangled hair away from my face.

“Look at you” he snorts.

“Am I to expect a prep team to come and get me ready?” I ask dryly, my voice hoarse from having not been used for a while. I hark a few times.

“You are to expect me giving you hell if you don’t get your ass off this bed and into a shower within the next three minutes.”

He grabs me by the hand and pulls me up on my feet. Judging by the look on his face I don’t smell too good but neither does he most of the time so he shouldn’t complain.

“Can’t we just do it like this?” I ask in a sigh. “Does it matter how I look?”

“Shower” orders Haymitch. “Now, Katniss.”

Obediently I turn around and slump towards the bathroom, too weary to argue. Haymitch gets to work with something behind me while I open the bathroom door but I don’t care what it is. With considerable effort I get my clothes off my body and step into the shower, hating the hot water that splashes over me and washes away sweat, dirt and probably a few layers of dead skin. I’ve been avoiding the shower. I don’t want to feel clean and fresh on the outside when I am anything but on the inside. I vaguely recall my mother needing extensive prodding to bathe or even wash for the first few weeks after my father died and I suppose that when you’re really feeling depressed personal hygiene is low on the list of priorities for anyone.

When I’m finally done I step out of the shower and dry off. With the towel wrapped around my body I walk out to the bedroom again, finding Haymitch helping himself to food he’s ordered up which makes me roll my eyes.

“Hungry, Haymitch?” I ask dryly.

“There’s clothes on the bed” he says, sticking a meatball in his mouth. “Get dressed.”

I let the towel drop to the floor, standing there completely naked. Under any other circumstances I would never show myself like this in front of Haymitch but I’m too far gone to care if he sees me. He keeps his back turned to me, wolfing down meatballs, green beans and something that looks like jelly coated strawberries while I put on the outfit on the bed. It’s a pair of black leggings and a simple white tunic with no added belts, pockets, frill or anything else to add some detail. I’m a bit relieved that it’s not a complex outfit that will take twenty minutes to put on but I could care less if it’s black and white or green and yellow or orange and burgundy. When I’m done I hark and Haymitch looks at me over his shoulder.

“Look at that. You almost pass for a normal person. Snap out of that mope, sweetheart, and come over here and eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“I didn’t ask if you _wanted_ to eat.”

With a sigh I walk over and take the plate he hands me. A few meatballs, mashed potatoes, some vegetables. Nothing fancy. He keeps the strawberries for himself. I walk over to the dresser and sit down on it, mechanically lifting the fork and shoving food in my mouth.

“What happens when I’ve eaten?” I ask in a mumble.

“Then you say goodbye to this room for good.”

I nod. In a way it’s a relief. At least it will all be over, one way or another.

“Hunger Games?” I ask.

“Died with Coin.”

“Good” I nod, relieved to know that no three year-old will be reaped to go into an arena this year, or any other.

“You caused quite a stir, sweetheart” says Haymitch but his tone is friendly now.

“Sorry” I mumble.

“I always knew you had potential.”

I can’t tell if he’s serious or not so I let the comment slip and focus on eating. I don’t try to draw it out to prolong my own life but as I sit there a thought occurs to me and I begin to feel like I have something left to do before I can die.

“Haymitch” I say. “Before they take me to the City Square or wherever this will take place... I would like to see Peeta. Alone. I need... I need to tell him something.” After everything it seems wrong to leave this life without telling him how grateful I am for everything he’s done for me and how much he means to me.

“Can’t you wait and talk to him later?” asks Haymitch.

“How much time do I have?” I have to ask, warily wondering if they’re going to draw this out and let me fret for a while before getting down to it.

“To chit-chat with your marginally less annoying half?” asks Haymitch. “Well that depends. How long do you plan to live?”

“I wasn’t aware I got to have an opinion on that” I mutter, pushing a meatball around on the plate, wishing Haymitch would stop acting like this and just tell me straight what will happen.

“Oh” says Haymitch. “You thought they were going to kill you?”

I look up, confusion written on my face.

“Aren’t they?”

“No.”

“I shot President Coin.”

“Yes” nods Haymitch. “And President Paylor wants me to tell you to stop shooting presidents that haven’t been sentenced to death. Other than that you’re fine. If killing Coin was your version of suicide by revolutionaries then I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

My head is spinning with this new information and it takes several minutes for it to even begin to sink in. Haymitch seems to sense my troubles with comprehension and leans back against the wall, finishing the strawberries at a leisurely pace, jelly dripping from his fingers and down on the expensive carpet. Eventually I set my plate down beside me and shake my head slightly.

“I’m not going to be executed?”

“No” says Haymitch. “Though if I knew you desired to be killed so much I wouldn’t have busted my ass trying to save you in the arena. They put you on trial. The trial is over. You’ve been acquitted with strings attached, one being that when the next hovercraft leaves the Capitol six days from now your ass is going to be on it.”

“Where are they taking me?”

“Home. Or, what’s left of it.”

I stare at him blankly for another couple of minutes. He seems bored now and I begin to notice how weary and downtrodden he looks. His face has more wrinkles than I remember, he looks unwashed even for Haymitch and there’s a dejected look on his face that reminds me of my own lethargy. I briefly wonder what he must have been through in these past few weeks, sending me out to battle, learning about Coin deploying Peeta, Peeta’s capture, my reaction to the news about Prim and then me shooting the new president and apparently being put on trial. I know that in his own way Haymitch truly cares about Peeta and me and for better or worse he will always be tied to us in the public’s eyes. There used to be a time when we followed his every order, trusting in his better judgment and his vast experience, but now we’ve long passed the point where he can’t control us or even guide us. Even so he has to feel the consequences of our actions.

“Haymitch what exactly happened after I shot Coin?” I ask, not too curious for my own sake but overcome with a strange sense that I owe him to ask and to listen if he wants to talk.

“Chaos” shrugs Haymitch. “Shock. Snow was amused, of course, but he didn’t live to enjoy it for very long. Paylor was voted in as president, though to be fair she didn’t have much competition. Then, of course, your trial. Plutarch made it a big televised event.”

“Of course” I say, rolling my eyes. Everything we do must be on TV. To oppress us, to liberate us, there’s always some excuse.

“Plutarch himself testified on your behalf. So did I, so did Effie, so did a handful of others.”

“Effie?” I ask, having entirely forgotten that I never found out what happened to her.

“Dr. Aurelius also testified on your behalf and essentially painted you out as a nut job who cracked after her sister died.” He gives a shrug with his left shoulder. “Maybe he’s right and that’s what you are. I honestly don’t care. You’re being sent home but you have to stay in contact with him and you can’t leave Twelve until further notice.”

“What about you?” I ask.

“Not much place for me here.”

“What about Peeta?”

“He’s free to go wherever he wants which means he’ll follow you back home.” He walks over to me and looks at me in a way that frightens me a little because it reminds me of those days after the Games when he told me that I had made enemies in the Capitol. “Katniss. You got off in large because they’re afraid to kill you, worried it might start another rebellion. Don’t think for a second that this means you’re off the hook. It’s not the same as it was under Snow but if I were you I would keep a low profile for the next lifetime or so.”

“Yeah” I mumble, thinking that a low-profile existence would be heaven.

“Let’s go” says Haymitch.

“Where?” I ask.

“Back to the headquarters. They need these rooms for criminals they actually intend to execute. I suppose you’ve got to love the poetry in that. For the next six days you’ll be in what they decided to call the Victors’ Council quarters.”

“The what?” I ask tiredly.

“I guess they figure they can use us for PR purposes. The benefit is that we get some form of seclusion.”

“You mean isolation.”

“Not entirely” says Haymitch. “Now come on.”

I obediently rise and follow him out the room. Honestly, what does it matter to me if I spend my days in this confined space or in some other confined space? It surprises me that they’re letting me live and some part of me that is still intent on survival begins to try and find something to live for. I can’t come up with anything while we ride to the Headquarters but when we reach the Victors’ Council quarter a thought occurs to me. They may want us victors to back future ideas they want to bring to life. Alma Coin is dead and her Capitol Hunger Games with her but that doesn’t guarantee that there won’t be other forms of punishment or retribution. An instinct begins to come to life inside me. I do have a reason to keep on going. As a victor I might be able to prevent rules or implementations that could harm my child.

I follow Haymitch into a long corridor with five doors on each side and an open door at the end of the hallway. Through it I can see a large table with red cushioned chairs which leads me to believe that either they really do want our input or they want us to believe that they do or, worst case scenario, they plan on having cameras here to give the impression that the victors are a big part of building the new Panem. The corridor, though naturally lacking windows and having only sparse lighting, seems bright thanks to the white walls and light green carpet. It all looks ridiculously clean in the midst of the restoration that only began a few days ago.

“Where is everybody?” I ask, hoping the answer will be that they are somewhere far, far away from here. I have no desire to see any of them, except possibly Peeta. Now that I’m not going to die I’m not sure what to say to him or what he thinks of me after all that’s happened. The time for avoiding him has passed, that much is certain. We’re both going back to District 12 and we’ll have to try and rebuild our life together. There’s something comforting about it, knowing that he will be there with me and keep me sane like I will hopefully be able to keep him sane. Maybe we can lean on one another again and see each other through. Maybe we might be able to have a decent marriage again when all of this is over.

“Dinner” answers Haymitch. “Two floors down. Elevator is out, as you noticed, so take the stairs. Though not tonight. You already got yours.”

“Thanks” I say with a shrug. “Not hungry. So which door do I step through?”

He leads me to the third door to the right and hands me a small key card.

“The first two days it seemed enough to just have a key to get through the main door” he tells me. “Then people started figuring out how to get in anyway and the next thing we knew some guy was rummaging through Annie’s things. As you can imagine, that did not go over well.”

I take the card and open the door. Yet another small room although this one is probably twice the size of the room we had in District 13. The carpet is the same light green as in the hallway and the walls are only a few shades darker, which, Haymitch informs me, is supposed to help you relax and go to sleep in the evening. A decent sized bed, smaller than our bed at home but at least twice as big as the cots we’ve been sleeping on since we arrived in Thirteen, stands opposite the door. To the left there’s a window, slightly ajar. To the right there’s another window with a projection of a forest. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a projection window. The one in the room they kept me in during the trial had one but it was broken and I probably wouldn’t have bothered with it even if it wasn’t. I’m guessing Peeta chose the forest projection to make me feel more comfortable. Where is he, by the way?

“The boy is downstairs” says Haymitch, as if reading my mind. “He wanted to wait for you before he went down to eat but Johanna convinced him that there was no point since you would be fed before being brought here.”

I survey the rest of the room. Two beech wood dressers, a mirror, two small armchairs and a closet. On the wall to the right there’s a small faucet to provide us with water. On top of one of the dressers sits a green glass pitcher and four small glasses.

“They like the colour green” I remark.

“It’s supposed to be soothing” Haymitch repeats.

He tells me to wait here and not get into any trouble. Then he leaves, probably longing for his own room and the stash of white liquor he no doubt keeps hidden somewhere. At this point I can’t really begrudge him the right to drink. In fact, I wouldn’t be too adverse to the idea of getting completely hammered myself.

Once I’m alone I walk over to the open window and take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the cold air. It’s a couple of degrees above freezing outside and the room is really chilly by now but I don’t mind it. It’s refreshing after spending so much time in that other room. I leave it open and walk over to the closet, opening it to find a small selection of clothes that don’t belong to me, or at least didn’t before, but seem to be the right size. I find a large grey sweater and pull it over my head. Then I go back to the window and look outside. The room overlooks the part of the city where most Capitol programs are produced and broadcast. It’s easy to figure out that Beetee spends most of his time there and perhaps a few of the other victors do, too. There’s a ledge right outside the window, wide enough to sit on if you’re careful, and a few stories below I can see a patio that seems to belong to the dining hall. This must be where people sit and enjoy their meals during warmer parts of the year.

Eventually I’ve filled my lungs with enough fresh air and I pull the window shut. I perch on the bed, which is harder than our bed at home but softer than the cots, and wait for Peeta. If what Haymitch said is true he should be making haste to get back up here but by now it’s been at least an hour and there’s no sight of him. I wonder what he’s been doing these past days. Does he have something to occupy his time with? Has he seen my mother, grieved Prim with her? I find myself hoping that he hasn’t. My sympathy for that woman has run out.

When I finally hear footsteps out in the hallway and Peeta’s voice bidding someone a good night my heart starts pounding and I feel far more anxious than when I thought Haymitch was going to take me to my execution. For a brief instant I wish I could jump out through the window, anything to avoid this moment, but then the door has opened and there stands Peeta, looking weary and ragged but smiling warmly at the sight of me. He’s dressed in a similar outfit to mine, making me wonder if it’s the new official dress code for the Victors’ Council, and his hair has been cut so short that it almost doesn’t curl anymore, to my dismay. For a moment he just stands there, his blue eyes gazing at me. Then he closes the door and takes three steps towards the bed while I somewhat fumblingly get down on the floor and walk up to him.

For several minutes we stand there, close enough to touch but neither of us making a move to do so, eyes examining each other and every so often meeting. He looks well, all things considered. He looks kind and friendly and caring. There’s no question about it, Snow never told him about the child. When he finally reaches out and wraps his arms around me I fall into his embrace and inhale deeply, filling my nose with the scent of him, realizing just how terribly I’ve missed him. He holds me close for what feels like an eternity that I don’t want to end, rocking me gently back and forth, making no move to kiss me. It’s not the reunion you would expect from spouses who have been parted for a long time by war and grief and imprisonment. It’s Peeta offering me support and me taking every ounce of it that I can get. It’s our old pattern and it’s a great comfort. This moment might be the first in which I have felt alive since I woke up after the bombs fell.

“I’m glad you’re back” he finally whispers.

“I’m glad to see you” I whisper back.

He pulls back, places a kiss on my brow and smiles. A warm sensation spreads from the spot where his lips touched my skin. His thumb reaches up and caresses my cheek and I respond by giving him a proper kiss. When our lips part it takes a few moments for either one of us to speak.

“Haymitch told you?” says Peeta finally.

“We’re going home” I say.

“Yeah. I was kind of scared there for a while.”

I don’t want to tell him that I was anything but, that if anything I would have welcomed my life ending, so I just hug him again. He flinches a little when my arms press against his back and I remember the scars I saw there before.

“Peeta” I say worriedly, pulling back. “Your back...”

“It’s fine” he claims. “Really.”

“I didn’t know they had taken you until it was all over. I didn’t know if you had lived or died. I wish you hadn’t gone to the Capitol, or at least given me a warning.”

“I didn’t want you to worry about me.”

“Well I did.”

“Yeah, well, I was worried about _you_ ” replies Peeta, breaking away from the embrace to go pour himself a glass of water. “Heading out with the Star Squad was one thing. I knew they needed you and I knew you needed to be part of it. What really bothered me was when you started screaming that night, drawing the mutts to you. Thank God only the dog mutts went.”

“Only the dog mutts?” I echo. “Those weren’t the only ones?”

He shakes his head and takes a sip of water. Then he tells me of the other mutts, the ones who nearly got Johanna. Barely a foot high, reptiles, vicious things with long mouths full of razor sharp teeth. Peeta says they resembled the alligators we saw in pictures at school when they talked about fauna thought to be extinct, only these ones were blood red with yellow eyes and tongues like snakes. One of the dog mutts got Chaff but Johanna and Peeta tried to escape by climbing up a fire escape only to be pursued by these reptile mutts who scaled the walls like spiders. Eventually Johanna and Peeta were driven right into the hands of peacekeepers and taken to the palace.

“Effie was there” reveals Peeta. “Help captive. Being Effie she was a bit teary-eyed at the reunion but I don’t think they actually did anything horrible to her. Well, it was horrible to _her_ , but they didn’t physically hurt her or anything. I think they were saving it. Probably intending on publically executing her if they knew you were watching.”

I shudder at the thought. Poor, sweet, clueless Effie. For all her faults she’s never been malicious and she genuinely tried to help us when we were her tributes. I hate the thought of her getting punished for our rebellious acts but it’s comforting to know she wasn’t hurt too badly. Unfortunately the same can’t be said for my prep team, or Peeta’s for that matter. They executed them on stage his second day in the Capitol, with him forced to stand up on the stage and watch the whole thing.

I don’t know what to say so I just sit on the bed while he tells his story. He seems eager to get it all off his chest even though I suspect he’s talked to Haymitch and perhaps Dr. Aurelius about it before. I would prefer not having to hear a word of it, truth be told, but I am determined to listen to everything he has to say. I need to be there for him now. I need to pull myself together and be strong so I can fight for the rights and the safety of our child and I need to be a wife to Peeta again. In a way he sacrificed his entire future to keep my loved ones safe, marrying me even though he didn’t want it to happen under the circumstances that were. I’ve grown comfortable with our marriage, content even, finding it to be a source of strength and reassurance. It may have started as a performance but it’s evolved far beyond that and it’s hard now to imagine my life without Peeta.

“I’m glad you didn’t die” I blurt out when he pauses for a moment to fill up his glass again.

He looks a bit startled, not so much by the admission but by the timing of it. He finishes the drink of water, sets the glass down on the counter and smiles sadly.

“I wish others could have lived, too” he says. “People like Boggs, Finnick...” He hesitates before he continues. “Prim.”

A tight lump forms in my chest and I swallow hard, forcing myself not to become teary eyed. Thinking of Prim still hurts even beyond how much the loss of my father hurt me. I can’t afford to think too much about it. I have to pull myself together before I can properly grieve my sister or I might not be able to pull through it. I grieved her a lot while I was imprisoned after the assassination and I almost didn’t pull through then.

Peeta walks over to me and rests his hand on my shoulder.

“I never got a chance to tell you how... how sorry I am.”

“You don’t have to” I manage to get out. “You loved her, too.”

“Yeah but not like you did.”

He sits down next to me and wraps his arm around my shoulder to pull me close but I shrug him off and stand up, walking over to the window. I don’t want him to comfort me because if he does I won’t be able to fend off my grief and then I will be in trouble.

“How is Annie doing?” I ask, mostly just to change the subject away from Prim.

“She was supposed to be getting married now” answers Peeta. “She’s... I don’t know. Sometimes I think she’s going to be fine but for the most part I think she... might just spend the rest of her life waiting for Finnick to come back.”

“Finnick is dead” I point out coldly and needlessly.

“I’m not entirely sure she grasps that.”

“I suppose that real star crossed lovers never find happily ever after” I say.

“Dr. Aurelius is keeping her here in the Capitol for a while. Hopefully she can get some help now. I think if she had gotten some after her Games she might have been a less broken person today. The only thing that really held her together was Finnick and now...”

I nod a little. I can related to that. Finnick and Annie may for the most part be the genuine version of the charade I performed with Peeta in the arena and afterward but there are some similarities that go beyond surface depth. I wonder if Annie’s love for Finnick grew from being able to lean on him the way I lean on Peeta. It’s not a very charming way to think of it but I suppose that for some people it can happen that way.

“The rest?” I ask.

“The rest what?”

“Of the people we know. Where are they going?”

“Beetee stays, Lyme stays, they’ve been hired by the government along with Plutarch and a number of others. Johanna goes back to Seven. Enobaria... Well, I decided not to ask. I avoid her when I can. She’s a little intimidating.”

“My mother?”

“I think she’s going to District... Four, or maybe Five? To help start up a hospital.”

“District 12 will need a hospital” I can’t help but remark.

“She can’t go back there, Katniss” says Peeta in a tone that is explanation in itself.

I snort. It’s true that the memories in Twelve might be overwhelming for her but does she think it’s easy for me? Doesn’t she want to be near the one person she has left in her life? Do I no longer matter to my mother? Or is she distancing herself from me so that it won’t be such a tangible loss if the new government decides to kill me after all?

“So now we go home” I say in a small voice, wondering what will actually be left for us there.

Peeta rises and walks up to me but he can read from my body language that I don’t want to be touched right now. He settles for standing beside me, looking out the window even though there’s not much to see now that it’s gotten dark.

“Now we go home” he confirms.

“And do what?”

“Rebuild our lives and our district.”

“I want to stay here” I say. “I want to know what goes on. What will happen to the Capitol children now?”

He shoots me a look.

“I thought you wouldn’t mind seeing them in the arena” he says dryly.

“It’s all over now but we can’t be sure that they won’t find some other devilry to unleash on the people here.”

“They won’t” says Peeta. “Paylor is not like Coin. She doesn’t believe that evil needs to be paid unto evil before we can begin to heal.”

“How can you be sure of that?” I ask.

“I was there when she was elected. I heard all about her plans for Panem. They didn’t include brutally punishing the Capitol citizens by hurting their children so there’s no reason to suspect that’s what she plans to do.”

I’m not convinced but I let the conversation die. It’s such a weird thing to be talking about anyway at a time like this. Our first evening together in forever, husband and wife reunited. We should probably be talking about how we’ve missed one another, make love and then fall asleep tangled together but it’s easy to figure out that’s not going to happen. It feels like there’s still something between us that hasn’t been said, something that prevents us from getting back to the way things used to be. For my part I know it’s the guilt I feel over our child and not telling Peeta about it but I can only guess what’s going on from Peeta’s end. Maybe he just senses that I’m not in the mood to open up and that I’m not ready to be a proper wife again just yet. Maybe he wants a bit of distance while he deals with everything that happened to him when he was held captive but I don’t think that’s it. Peeta is more of the type that likes to seek solace in someone else and open up to them. Shying away was never his method, except for when we returned to Twelve after the Games and he had figured out I was only pretending in the arena. And, I realize, between the birth of our baby and the wedding, when I had pulled away but didn’t realize it would affect him.

Despite the diffuse problems between us now I find that I long for him desperately. There’s a part of me that wants his touch, his kisses, his body on top of mine as we move together in the rhythm we perfected a long time ago. For a while now I’ve been feeling like there’s a significant part of me missing and I wonder if perhaps I can have some of that back if I reach out for my husband.

Even so I can’t bring myself to make a move towards him. Instead I turn my face away, trying not to be overcome with the guilt that is always nagging at me around him, stronger every day. He thinks we’re a team, spouses, two people who care deeply about one another and who always look out for one another. Protect each other. Little does he know that the person he thinks he can trust the most is betraying him more gravely than anyone else ever has. I need to find a way to get past that guilt or we won’t be able to find our way back to one another.

“It’s getting late” says Peeta. “We should go to bed.”

I nod and turn around, taking a look around the room.

“Where’s the bathroom?”

“It’s down the hall. We get to share with the others.”

I follow his directions to get to the bathroom where I proceed to splash my face and brush my teeth. I brush my hair, which takes some considerable effort since it’s been left to tangle for days now, and braid it. Then I walk back to our room and Peeta leaves for the bathroom. While he’s gone I take my clothes off and for a second consider crawling into bed in just my underwear. Then I think the better of it. Peeta wants the window open during the night which means it’s going to get chilly. Usually I get around that by sleeping in Peeta’s arms but that feels a little too intimate tonight when things aren’t quite the way they ought to be between us. I decide that we can sleep in each other’s arms tomorrow after we’ve had a chance to reconnect and so I walk over to the dresser and find a grey flannel pyjamas that I put on. I crawl under the covers and curl up on my side, closing my eyes.

A few minutes later Peeta returns. I hear him undressing, opening the window and then feel the bed dip as he gets in beside me. There’s a moment’s pause, then he lies down with a tired sigh followed by a yawn.

“Good night” I mumble.

“Good night” he replies.

 

 

Things don’t get better the next day. There’s still something between us that I don’t understand and with everything else going on I have neither the time nor the energy to figure out what to do to change it. So I do the convenient thing: I shy away. I go and find Gale since I know he must be worried about me and I spend the entire day in his company. The next day I make an effort to try and find my mother but she is at the Capitol Hospital and even though I leave messages for her she never gets back to me. I’m disappointed but not surprised, which is probably the way Peeta feels about my failures to support him.

The days drag on and I spend all of them fighting to keep from falling into depression. There’s not a lot to do here anymore for those of us who aren’t actively participating in the restoration and so far they haven’t called upon us victors to give input on anything. Eventually I get my hands on an old, broken bow and begin to repair it just to keep my mind occupied. Gale helps me out at first but he’s never been good at crafting bows and he’s taken an interest in the restoration so unlike me he’s got something to do during the day.

Two days before we are set to return to Twelve I climb through the window and take a seat on the ledge, my feet dangling in the air several feet above ground level. It’s a fairly warm day for this time of year but I still wear gloves and a coat which hinders me somewhat while I begin to string the bow but it doesn’t matter if it takes all day to finish. The longer it takes and the trickier it gets the less time I have to focus on the things I don’t want to be thinking about. The things I can’t afford to be thinking about right now.

I’ve been out there for about an hour when I hear a noise and look up to see Peeta climbing out through the window to join me. It makes me feel a little bit happy. He hasn’t sought me out these past few days, still not pushing to bridge the gap I keep putting between us, and seeing him coming to find me reminds me yet again of how much I miss him. He shivers a bit in the cold breeze as he carefully takes a seat next to me on the ledge, looking out at the city below rather than at me.

“How’s the bow coming along?” he asks.

“Fine” I answer.

He nods.

“They’re sending us home in two days.”

“Yeah” I nod.

He sits quiet for a few minutes, as if trying to figure out what to say. A few times he opens his mouth to talk but then closes it again. I keep my eyes locked on the bow, waiting for him to speak. I know he must want to make things right between us again just as much as I do but since I haven’t got the first idea how to go about it I figure I might as well leave it up to Peeta to take the first step. He’s the one gifted with words, not me. He’s also the one with more emotional depth and clarity who can probably see what is ailing us far better than I can.

So when he finally begins to talk he takes me by surprise to the point that I almost lose my balance and fall off the ledge.

“Before we go back home to Twelve, I... I think we should get a divorce.”

His words seem to just hang there in the long silence that follows. I come very close to dropping the bow while I stare at Peeta, feelings of shock and betrayal coursing through me. Never in a million years had I expected this from him. I know I’ve been a failure as a wife recently but divorce? It never even crossed my mind that it was an option for us. I’ve never known anybody who’s been divorced; the sanctity of marriage is a fairly important issue in the districts of Panem but even if divorces were commonplace I never thought it would be an option for Peeta and me. We were bound together for life and only death could do us part. It doesn’t matter that President Snow and everyone involved with forcing us into this marriage are dead. I am Peeta’s and Peeta is mine and that can’t be undone. Above all else, I never thought for a second that Peeta would want it to be otherwise. He loves me. Doesn’t he? Has the war and my inability to show affection finally killed that?

“I...” I begin to stutter. “I...”

“Just... Just listen, please?” he begs. “It’s not that I think we _should_ divorce. I think we _need_ _to_. What’s keeping us together now? You never wanted to be my wife. It was an act from the beginning. I know you care about me, in your own way, but it’s...” He looks so pained that it breaks my heart. “It’s been very obvious to me lately where your heart truly lies.”

Gale. I swallow hard and feel too guilty to look at Peeta. It suddenly becomes obvious to me how all of this must have seemed from his point of view. The timing of it all. While we were in Thirteen and the hopes of freedom from the Capitol began to feel real I spent more and more time with Gale as we trained for the upcoming battles. After the Capitol fell and I no longer had to worry about what Snow might do to me if I failed to stay in line I was completely wrapped up in worrying about my child, then dealing with the finality of knowing that now I _can_ find the child but I can’t get him or her back. On top of that I worried that Peeta had been told the truth. I stayed away from Peeta and sought comfort in Gale. What my husband saw was me pulling away from him and turning to another man at the point in time when the oppressors who made this marriage happen were losing ground and we were beginning to have the opportunity of choosing our futures for ourselves.

“Peeta” I say, reaching out to take his hand but he pulls away.

“Please, Katniss” he says. “Please. Hear me out.”

I shake my head. I can’t let him make a decision like this based on wrong information. I need Peeta. I can’t land on my feet again and deal with all that I’ve lost and the uncertainty of my future if I don’t have my rock to cling to. There’s no way I can let him leave me now. I need to find a way back to him, not further away from him.

“Peeta” I say again but he continues talking without letting me speak.

“There’s no point in pretending that I don’t love you anymore” he says, which makes me breathe a little easier while at the same time makes it all even more confusing. “I will always be in love with you. I just don’t think I can keep pretending that you feel the same way, or hope that you might one day. To be honest I don’t think I could believe it if you did tell me you love me back. This marriage is tainted. It’s not what you and I chose. If I let you go now... I mean...” He struggles to find his words and seems frustrated with himself for not being able to just say what it is he needs to say. “The thing is, if you eventually figure out that you want to be with me and you come back to me then I will know I was your choice. Then I could be happy. I can’t be happy with you like this, always wondering if I’m just who you got stuck with or a convenience, like a pet you’ve grown accustomed to or a friend you don’t want to lose touch with. I need to know that what you feel for me is real if I am to ever be safe with you.” He swallows hard. He’s still not looking at me but my eyes are locked on him, silently begging him to stop talking. I can understand what he’s saying and on some level I can accept him leaving me for this reason but I’m too selfish not to want him to stay. “I know that’s not realistic” he continues, his voice trembling and probably not just from the cold. “You’re not going to feel that way about me. Like I said, I know who your real choice would be. I’m not blind. I want you to have the freedom to make that choice, even if it means spending the rest of my life missing you.”

“I don’t want to miss _you_ ” I say.

“I’ll still be around” he says. “I’ll be your friend. Just not your husband. You never wanted me to be in the first place. Please, Katniss, this is what we both want.”

It’s not what either one of us wants. Peeta still loves me so he can’t possibly want to go from sharing a life, a home and a bed with me to being alone while I find somebody else. I want to keep my boy with the bread, the one who holds me in the night when the nightmares frighten me and who gives me fresh baked cheese buns in the morning and who understands me and my demons in a way that nobody else possibly can. Our marriage is the only thing I have left of the life that used to be and I am way too frightened to be ready to let go of it. I have long since adjusted to the thought of a lifetime with Peeta and when you take him out of the equation I have no idea what the rest of my life will be like. What will it be like without his kind eyes, his warm smile, his loving touch? What will my everyday life be without his voice, his company, his love?

Every selfish bone in my body wants to tell him no. We should stay together. I want to promise him that I’ll do better, that I will be a better comfort and support to him. We’re supposed to lean on each other, that was the plan, and I’m afraid that without him I will crumble. It would have been different if Prim had still been alive, if my mother had been someone to count on, if I could have had my child back. As it stands, there’s only Peeta. And he has only me. How can I let him walk away from me now?

“Not yet” I say weakly. “Not now.”

“No, it has to be now” says Peeta grimly. “I did some research... We can have divorce papers drawn up and signed before we leave the Capitol. It would take a while for it to actually go through with the general chaos right now but within a month or two it should be final. We could both start to move on with our lives.” He looks up at the sky, squinting in the fading sunlight. “We have to start over now anyway. District 12 is in ruins, everything has to be rebuilt. If we’re going to part ways then now is the time.”

I desperately don’t want him to go. I want him to stay with me and chase the terrors away. The sad look on his face is what stops me from grabbing him and begging him to think twice about this. He meant it when he said he would never be able to trust my feelings for him under these circumstances and I don’t even know what it is I’m feeling anymore so how can I reassure him of anything? Can I honestly say that I want him to stay because of what he means to me and not because I’ve grown so accustomed to letting him carry me through?

I realize how unfair it is to him if I cling to him without even being sure of how I feel. I’ve used him in the past but this would be a different form of cruelty. My mind goes back to a promise I once made to myself, that I would spend the rest of my life making amends to him for giving our baby away in secret. I’ve not been very good at that, especially not lately. All I do is make him miserable and there’s nothing I can say that will allow me to keep him without adding to that misery. He needs to be free of me, needs the chance to move on. I owe him that much.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been a good wife” I say with a trembling voice.

“You’ve been perfect” says Peeta.

“I’ve been awful and we both know it.”

“Don’t say that.” He gives a resigned shrug. “You’ve been better than anyone could have asked. You haven’t been my _real_ wife anyway. This marriage was never more than a facade to keep the wolves from our doors and I’m sorry I sometimes acted like it was more than that. It wasn’t fair to you.”

I find myself fighting to keep the tears at bay.

“I’m not ready for this to end,” I tell him, “but maybe the reasons why I’m not ready are the wrong ones.”

He nods, slowly and dejectedly. Then he finally looks at me and the desolation in his blue eyes is almost too much to bear. How lonely he seems. How lonely he is. The day after he learned about his parents and brothers he said that he was all alone, with no family left. That day I assured him that he was wrong to think that, that I would always be his family and that I would never leave. And here I am, having left him, having given up on him, and he doesn’t even seem to reproach me for it. He just... accepts it. Like he accepts everything else that I do. Haymitch was right in what he said to me once before the wedding took place. I could live a hundred lifetimes and do a million good deeds and I will never come close to deserving Peeta. Especially since in this moment even though I can see his pain there’s a big part of me that wants him to stay with me for selfish reasons. I can’t handle another change in my life and I’m scared of returning to District 12 and having to face the darkness and emptiness alone. Without Peeta there to hold me at night how will I get through it? And if I’m gone, who will Peeta have to turn to?

“Who’s going to look after you, Peeta?” I ask, unable to express my concern for him in any other words.

“I’m not that sixteen year-old boy with blood poisoning lying in that cave” answers Peeta. “I can look after myself.”

“Yeah but...” I begin but since I don’t know how to end that sentence I fall silent. The truth is I haven’t done a good job taking care of him myself so maybe he will be better off without me.

“I’ll have it all set up” says Peeta after a moment. “This is what I want. Trust me on this. We’ll only end up hating each other in the end if we stay together now.”

“I could never hate you” I say.

“Maybe not... But I don’t want to be the guy you wake up with ten years from now and look at wondering where the hell your life went.”

He gets up carefully and it’s all I can do not to reach out and grab him to make him stay. Watching him climb back in through the window makes me feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach. He was the one I never thought would leave and now he’s going to be gone as well. Gale would tell me that I should feel relieved in this moment, liberated even. The relationship which was created for our survival and the marriage that was chosen for us by the Capitol are about to end and we are free to make our own choices. It shouldn’t hurt this much to see Peeta go. Maybe he’s right and we’ll keep being friends but somehow I doubt it. How do you maintain a friendship after something like this?

I pull my right leg up and bury my face against my knee, shaking with tearless sobs. This is not how things were supposed to end for Peeta and me but this is the way life is now. The new, liberated life we all fought so hard to achieve. It feels nothing but lonely and uncertain to me now.

 

 

The last days before we leave the Capitol are difficult and painful. Peeta and I still share a room and a bed and while we both try to be amicable to one another it’s obvious that neither one of us knows how to behave right now. I lie there next to him at night, desperate to feel his arms around me and unable to sleep because all I can think about is how these are the last nights I will hear his breathing next to me in the darkness. Most of all I can’t bear the pain I know this is causing him. He tries as hard as he can not to let it show but there are some things you can’t hide from the person who’s shared your life for three years. I think he knows that, so he spends most of the days elsewhere. I feel like we should make these last few days count somehow but I don’t know how and it’s obvious that Peeta just wants to get through them.

Finally the day arrives when we are to leave. Early in the morning we pack our things, which essentially means that we gather up a few items of clothing, and then we head over to the Training Centre which is where the hovercraft will depart from. We’re taken up to the rooms we used to occupy as tributes and mentors from District 12 and Peeta leads the way to Effie’s old bedroom which has now been turned into an office. A man named Marcus Earnshaw, newly appointed Secretary of Justice, awaits us behind a large mahogany desk. He’s a fairly young man, probably in his forties, with ashen hair and dark brown eyes that look at us almost proudly, like he’s glad to be a part of the dissolution of this particular marriage. What a change from just a year ago when my marriage to Peeta was as good as sacred to the citizens of the Capitol.

“Let’s get started, then. Shall we?” says Marcus.

A door opens and a young woman enters to stand witness. Marcus begins to talk about the exact details of our divorce, how what we still own will be divided between the two of us and how I will no longer be entitled to carry the name Mellark, which I never used in the first place. The whole experience is so surreal and I barely heard a word he’s saying yet I wish he would go on talking forever. As soon as he is done Peeta and I will sign the papers that end our union and two days later the idea is no less painful than it was out on the ledge. Every cell in my body wants to protest, wants to stop Peeta’s hand as he reaches for a pen and leans in to sign his name. I don’t want to lose him. I can’t lose him. Not while everything else is chaos. The only thing that stops me from telling him how I can’t stand the loss of him is knowing how unfair that would be to him. If this is painful to me it must be agony to Peeta. The kind thing to do is to go along with it and act like I’m okay letting him go. I can’t promise him my love so it’s unbearable to say or do anything in this moment that might make him hope for it. He deserves the chance to move on with his life. Someone like him should be with someone who adores him.

It just pains me so much to think of somebody else getting to fall asleep in his embrace.

My mouth is completely dry and I feel almost sick to my stomach as I watch him sign his name. He sets the pen down and takes a step back, allowing me to move closer to the writing desk. It takes every ounce of strength that I have to do so and I have to force myself to pick up the pen. I take a deep breath and resist the urge to close my eyes for a second to gather strength. I need to appear to be okay with this, for Peeta’s sake. I have to do it right now or I will lose my nerve and probably never be able to sign these documents.

I lean forward and scribble “Katniss Everdeen” on three separate documents. I let the pen drop, feeling hollow and abandoned. I’m no longer Peeta’s wife. He is no longer my husband. We’re heading home to District 12 but we no longer have a home together.

“Okay then” says Marcus kindly. “The documents will need to be processed of course but for all intents and purposes you two are no longer married.”

He grabs the documents and puts them in a dark green folder which goes into a leather briefcase he’s had sitting behind the desk. He begins to chat with the woman who stood witness, as if Peeta and I ceased to exist the moment our business was concluded. I look at Peeta, my now ex-husband, finding him calm and composed. _Resigned_ , just like he’s been to everything else that constitutes my failure to love him the way he deserves.

There are so many things I want to tell him but I can’t find the words. He smiles a little, a smile that signals that it’s okay and everything will be alright even though right now we’re both in a lot of pain. He takes a step closer and I hold my breath, waiting to see what he will do or say.

“We should get going” he says.

I nod. The hovercraft is waiting for us. I wait for him to be the first to leave but he can’t seem to bring himself to do so any more than I can. Maybe he’s waiting for me to say something. I rack my brain trying to find the right words, something that won’t be disrespectful but also won’t betray how much I already miss him.

“Thank you” is what ends up coming out of my mouth. “For everything.”

He places a hand at my neck and leans his head in to mine, our brows touching.

“You’ve been amazing” he tells me in a low voice. “Gale is a lucky guy.”

It takes everything I’ve got not to cry when he says that. His hand disappears from my neck and he walks past me to get to the door. I turn slowly and follow him, wishing for the numbness to come and take over the desperate aching in my chest. The feeling that a vital part of me is walking out the door with Peeta is far too palpable and I can’t stand facing that loss on top of everything else. Peeta turns, offers me a faint smile and holds the door open for me before leading the way up to the rooftop.

I’ll never kiss him again. The thought strikes me hard, making me stop for a second. It didn’t occur to me until now but with our marriage ended it’s not just Peeta’s embrace that will be gone from my life. I’ll never feel his lips press against mine again, never let my tongue dance with his, never feel his most intimate kisses bring me to life. That’s all over now. Those kisses that once were nothing more than my lips against somebody else’s, always staged for the audience, have become something I don’t want to live without. Just like the child that resulted from our very first time together Peeta is going to be out of my reach forever, for his own sake.

I feel almost numb inside as we walk up the stairs together and out on the rooftop. The hovercraft is there waiting along with several people who will be travelling home today along with us. All victors who intend to leave the Capitol are here and I see a few familiar faces from Twelve. Gale, eager to return to his family. Salvia Smith, who doesn’t count as a victor even though she survived an arena but retains some amount of status for being a surviving tribute. I wonder how many will be in Twelve when we get back and how many will have decided to find other, better homes.

Gale sees me and comes over, a smile on his face. He doesn’t know about the divorce, or if he did he didn’t hear about it from me, and my first thought is wondering how to tell him about it. He’ll be happy and that’s not the reaction I’m most comfortable with. He puts both his hands on my shoulders and squeezes gently.

“Finally, Catnip” he says. “We get to leave this horrible city.”

“Back home” I mumble, not sure how I feel about it. “Has anybody been to Twelve yet? Do we know if there’s any place to stay?”

“Many of those who stayed behind in Thirteen returned and began rebuilding a few weeks ago” says Gale. “The Victors’ Village is the only place left standing untouched but they’re working on getting the town back on its feet.”

“So everyone is camping out in the Victors’ Village?”

“No, the government retains ownership of those houses” says Gale in a disapproving tone. “You and Peeta and Haymitch get to keep your houses but I think the rest will be handed off to government officials who come to live in Twelve.”

That brings another problem to mind. With Peeta’s and my marriage over, what will be the living arrangements? I moved in with Peeta when we got married but that house is my home now just as much as it is his. I want to ask him what we’re going to do about that but when I turn around he’s no longer there. He’s walked off into the crowd and I can’t find him. I bite my bottom lip and swallow the unease that comes over me. I suppose the answer to my question is obvious anyway. I moved in to Peeta’s house. The one I was awarded still stands. I will be the one who leaves.

It takes a while for the hovercraft to get ready to load everybody, and even longer to get everyone on board. It’s a large, hollow kind of hovercraft similar to the one we used to escape to Thirteen seven months ago. It’s got seats along each wall and is about half full by the time I get on board. I walk over to the nearest available seat and sit down. Gale sits down next to me. My eyes search for Peeta and I find him further down, sitting next to Haymitch. It’s odd being further away with Gale instead of there with the pair of them but I guess that’s what life is going to be like now. Then I see that Johanna Mason comes and sits on the other side of Peeta and begins a conversation with him. He smiles at something she says and leans in closer to say something to her in a lower voice. A flash of jealousy burns through me though I can’t quite justify the feeling. Why should it bother me that Peeta talks to Johanna Mason? She’s the last sort of person he would ever fall for.

As if it’s even any of my business anymore if he should fall for her.

I know I shouldn’t keep staring at them but I can’t help myself. I don’t like the feeling I get from seeing them talking closely like that and I want to be sure it has stopped before I pay attention to Gale. Johanna turns her head and her eyes meet mine, prompting me to look away and immediately make up my mind to not as much as glance over in their direction until Johanna has been dropped off in District 7. What do I care if they’re friends? Why should the sight of them together be of any interest to me?

The hovercraft takes off and we leave the Capitol behind. I lean back and close my eyes, ignoring Gale’s attempts at starting up a conversation. Soon I will be home and I will have to start making a new life for myself. I don’t know how I will find the strength to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Midsummer!


	11. Chapter 11

Everything is still and quiet around me. So still, in fact, that I barely dare to move. I don’t even feel like I belong in this house, like it is home at all. I only lived here about twelve months all in all before I moved in with Peeta. None of the things around me are mine, they either belonged to Mother or Prim or they came with the house. All my belongings are over at Peeta’s house and since I only got in yesterday I haven’t had a chance to go and get them yet. I should go collect them soon, before Peeta gets home. He disembarked in District Seven yesterday, together with Johanna Mason, something I try my best not to think about.

While I was in Thirteen and then in the Capitol I longed for solitude but now that I am back and finding myself all alone I’m so lonely I could scream. Being in this house makes it all worse. I don’t want to be here, every fibre of my body is screaming that. Everywhere I look I’m reminded not only of Prim but of Peeta, since everything I see that differs from the house I shared with him makes the split between us all the more tangible. No matter how difficult I know I have to stay here. There’s nowhere else to go. Gale and his family sleep in the makeshift houses they’ve assembled in town and I can’t bring myself to go to Haymitch.

Several days pass with me in lethargy, barely making it out of bed at all. Greasy Sae shows up after the second day and makes me come down the stairs and eat but she cooks a whole lot more than I consume. Most of the time I wish she would leave me alone because even though she’s company her presence doesn’t seem to ease my loneliness.

Eventually Gale shows up, looking shocked at my physical appearance. I haven’t bathed or even washed myself in days, much less bothered to change my clothes or brush my hair. Going by the way his nose wrinkles when he steps closer to me I smell pretty bad too. He orders me to get off my ass and go upstairs to shower but I ignore him. I’m too overcome by my sadness to know who it really is that I miss right now but I do know that Gale’s not it. He grabs me by the arm and pulls me up on my feet, turns me around and with his hands on my back pushes me towards the stairs. Without saying a word I go up the stairs and step into the shower, still wearing my clothes, figuring it’s easier to obey him than to listen to his complaints.

As the clothes become soaked they grow heavy and I wearily remove them, letting them lie where they fall. After a while I turn the shower off and step out on the thick rug, wrapping a towel around me but not bothering to dry off properly. I step out into the bedroom where Gale has opened all the windows and picked out something for me to wear. I take one look at the garments and don’t bother pointing out to him that they are my mother’s. Instead I grab them and go back inside the bathroom to put them on.

“I know it’s hard” says Gale when I come back out again. “But you’ve got to pull yourself together, Katniss. For Prim’s sake.”

“Yeah” I mumble.

“Prim wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

“Doesn’t really matter what Prim would want now, does it?”

He shoots me a look but doesn’t answer. Instead he grabs me by the shoulders and ushers me down the stairs where Greasy Sae is preparing another meal. I obediently take a seat by the table and stare at the bowl of stew Sae puts in front of me. It doesn’t smell very good and looks even worse. I’ve eaten a lot of questionable things in my day and I’m usually not a picky person but right now they could probably tempt me with the lamb stew from the Capitol and I would turn my nose up at it.

“Eat” orders Gale, sitting down opposite me. He begins to wolf down the stew with a hearty appetite. “I thought I should give you and Peeta some time to readjust but then Sae here told me you were living here all by yourself.”

I look over at Greasy Sae who is busying herself with cleaning up the kitchen. This is not a conversation I’m willing to have with an audience.

“Just eat” I say coldly.

“Fine” answers Gale. “But we will talk about this. Later.”

I shrug a shoulder and lift a forkful of food to my mouth. Greasy Sae continues her work in the kitchen for a while but when she realizes she’s not going to get any gossip at the moment she gives up, shrugs her shoulders and tells me she’ll see me tomorrow again. She leaves out the kitchen door and I push the bowl of stew away from me, having barely eaten half.

“So what gives?” asks Gale, looking up from his stew. “Why is Peeta in Seven and why are you in this house?” He frowns. “He didn’t...”

“... Learn that he’s a father? No.” I reach for the glass of ice water somebody placed in front of me earlier and lift it to my mouth. “We got divorced. That’s why I’m here and not at home. As for why he went to Seven, I’m not sure.”

I take long gulps of water, making sure I don’t look over at Gale. I don’t want to see whatever look is on his face right now. He has a right to be happy about this news but it seems disrespectful to Peeta for him to show it.

“I’m proud of you, Catnip” he says eventually. “You did it after all.”

“Peeta did it” I say briskly, setting the glass down with a slam. “It’s a little overwhelming so I’d rather not talk about it.”

Gale ignores this request and leans in over the table.

“Well that’s great, Katniss! I always knew he was a reasonable guy. The two of you are free and can live your lives the way you want to and you don’t have to worry about stepping on his toes or making him feel bad since the divorce was his suggestion.”

“I suppose so” I say sadly.

“He’s probably in Seven right now to give you a chance to move your stuff back here without things getting too awkward” guesses Gale, leaning back in his chair. He grabs a piece of carrot from the stew and chews on it with a thoughtful face. “Have you gotten the move out of the way yet?”

“No.”

He wants to know why but I just shrug. I’m not ready to deal with it yet. Gale insists that it needs to happen sooner rather than later and the more he talks the more I begin to realize that he’s right. Nothing’s going to change what’s happened and I’m not going to live in that house anymore so I might as well collect my things. I don’t know if Peeta will be in Seven indefinitely or if he’s just giving me a few days to move my things out before he comes back home. If that’s the case then I need to move quickly. I don’t want him to come home finding me packing up my things if that’s exactly what he’s trying to avoid. Knowing how difficult I’m finding this I can only imagine what it would be like for him having to watch me pack up my things and move out of our house.

 

 

The next day I find myself inside my old home, looking around and marvelling at how it all looks the same as when I last saw it. There’s a thick layer of dust and some cobwebs and the windows really need cleaning but other than that nothing has changed. It’s bizarre given everything that has happened since the day I last visited. So many memories flood through me as I look around. Lazy days crept up on the couch while storms rage outside our windows. Peeta baking in the kitchen while I make new arrows to replace ones I’ve lost or broken. Intense lovemaking in front of the fireplace. Serving Haymitch ice water instead of liquor when he comes over for dinner and listening to his gripes about how Peeta and me gang up on him. Playing card games with Prim at the kitchen table. Hearing the voices of people I’ve loved and lost, smelling the scents of fresh bread baking, feeling at home. Now all that remains is an empty house.

It takes me almost forty-five minutes to do anything but stand there and wallow in memories. Then I begin to move, wanting to be done as soon as possible once I have gotten started. I go down to the basement where we keep the cardboard boxes we used to move my things in all those years ago. The basement was my turf, the place where I crafted my bows. Peeta rarely set foot here, finding it dark and unwelcoming. It’s even darker now since the light bulb has given out but I know my way around even without a source of light. I find the boxes and with some trouble get them up the stairs into the kitchen, setting them down on the floor in front of the kitchen island where I used to prepare the game I brought home. I wonder if Peeta will be buying meat from the butcher from now on or if he’ll have to do without. There’s still some debating on whether or not the victors are entitled to the money winning the Games promised us and I don’t dare to assume that Peeta will have money to buy meat unless he begins to sell the things he bakes again. In order to do that on a large enough scale that he can live off of it he will need plenty of supplies and he won’t have a lot of money to procure it.

I look up when I hear a scratching sound on the window, half expecting to see Buttercup sitting on the windowsill. He used to come over every once in a while hoping that I’d have some entrails for him or that Peeta had an egg to spare. I have to remind myself that Buttercup is almost certainly dead. What makes the scratching sound on the window is a small bird that has landed there to rest for a moment before flying off. As much as I never liked the scrawny old cat it still feels depressing to know that he probably won’t ever sit on that windowsill again. Funny how even a windowsill can seem so empty all of a sudden.

I begin to open up kitchen cabinets, trying to remember what things belong to me and what things belong to Peeta. Aside from a set of sharp knives I realize almost everything in the kitchen is either his or came with the house. There’s a set of expensive china that was given to us as a wedding gift from someone in the Capitol but we’ve never used it and I leave it where it is.

I move on to the living room where I collect a couple of books that I’ve bought over the years, a tablecloth my mother embroidered and gave me for my birthday and a pair of copper candlesticks Peeta gave to me on our second wedding anniversary. There’s a picture of Prim and me, smiling together out on the meadow, sitting on the mantel and I grab it carefully, studying it for a second while I try to decide if I want to keep it or if it’s just a painful reminder. I decide that while it’s too difficult to keep it around right now I might want it at a later point so I carefully place it in a box, wrapped in the tablecloth.

Slowly I move from room to room, gathering the few items that belong to me. Downstairs is fairly easy. There aren’t many things there that feel difficult to take from the house. However when it’s time to go upstairs I hesitate. I know I need to get my clothes but there are other things there that I don’t want to deal with at the moment. A pair of pearl earrings Peeta gave to me on our first anniversary, naturally shown on camera as part of the TV special but beautiful and precious to me nonetheless. A framed photograph Effie gave to us, taken at some party in the Capitol. It shows us decked up to the nines, my arms wrapped around Peeta, both of us laughing at something, looking happy and like we don’t have a care in the world. I always found that picture a bit odd since if there’s one thing we’ve never been since properly meeting it’s carefree but it is a lovely photograph and we decided to put it up in our bedroom.

Eventually I decide not to gather the things from upstairs just yet. It can wait another night. It’s been difficult enough packing up things from downstairs. With a firm grip on the large box I’ve filled I step out into the cold evening and close the door behind me. Once I get back inside my own house I set the box down and move to start unpacking it but I immediately realize I don’t know where to put anything. The coffee table in the sitting room already has a tablecloth. The bookshelf is already full of books. There are already sharp knives in the kitchen drawers. I gulp as I take another look around the house, taking in the sight of all the familiar objects that belonged to my dead sister and to a mother I know won’t come to collect them. I turn on my heel and run back out, freezing in the cold wind. I step back inside the other house and grab two of the empty boxes still sitting on the kitchen floor. Then I hurry back to the house I won and begin to grab Prim’s belongings and put them into the boxes, feeling a little easier at heart when item after item disappears from sight.

By the time I’m done I’m exhausted and I realize that I’m crying. I collapse against the kitchen wall, sobbing silently as I stare at the box that contains everything my little sister owned and will never ever use again. A whole life gathered in just one cardboard box. For a girl born in the Seam it’s a whole lot of possessions, to be fair, but it still seems like so little. I know the things in that box can’t accurately represent who she really was or capture any part of her soul but those items are still a part of her and now that I’ve removed them from my line of sight I’m not sure what to do with them. I can’t throw it out and I can’t keep it. Burying my face in my hands I sit there and sob until my head begins to hurt. Then I stand up on wobbly legs, pick the box up and take one more walk over to mine and Peeta’s house. I find my way to the basement and set the box down there, writing Prim’s name on it just in case Peeta finds it and wonders if it’s garbage or things to be kept. Then I head back to the other house and crawl into bed.

 

 

Gale finds me in mine and Peeta’s house the next day, claiming he’s here to check on me but I have a feeling he’s happy to see me packed and out of the house. By the time he gets there I’ve gathered most of the more personal items and all that remains is clothes and a glass pitcher I bought right after I moved in. It normally stands on my bedside table in case I get thirsty during the night, though truthfully I rarely use it.

I put Gale to work folding clothes as I take them out of the closet, thinking it would be a little too weird if I let him go through the closet where my clothes hang next to Peeta’s. As I remove sweaters, blouses, pants and the occasional dress I can’t help but notice how they smell. All clothes have been sitting in the closet for months now and consequently smell a little dusty and have picked up the scent from the closet itself but when I hold them to my nose I can detect the faint smell of Peeta. The soap he most often used, the detergent he bought last April. Victors don’t have to wash their clothes by hand, we have shiny washing machines installed by the Capitol.

“You’re keeping all these clothes?” asks Gale, folding a pair of pants.

“Sure” I shrug. “I see no reason not to.”

My fingers brush against a blue chequered shirt. I’ve seen Peeta wearing it once or twice. He rarely wore fine shirts unless there was going to be a camera on him. I push it aside a little and my fingers find a blue cashmere sweater he liked to wear on cold winter days. His clothes are arranged by colour while mine hang randomly on their hangers creating quite the contrast between his organized half of the closet and my disorganised one. From now on he’ll be able to keep the whole thing coordinated and not have to share space with someone as sloppy as me. I focus on the half of the closet containing my clothes and grab three shirts in one go, handing them to Gale without a word. The closet is beginning to look empty without my things in there and I want to be done as soon as possible so I don’t have to see it. I don’t like how each item I remove from this house seems to remind me of how I am leaving Peeta’s life at a time when he needs me. The divorce having been his idea doesn’t make it easier.

I gather up the final garments and carry them to the bed where I unceremoniously drop them all on the bedspread. It’s a large yellow and white patchwork quilt given to us by Peeta’s mother at our wedding. I’ve come to like it but I’m glad it’s something that belonged to him and not to me. It would have felt strange removing it from the bed. I hesitate before I move towards the large dresser by the bathroom door. Packing up my underwear and sleepwear is something I would much rather do on my own. It feels strange that Gale should see my underwear, some of which were designed for seduction. Before I pull out the drawer I ask him to run downstairs and go over the contents of the kitchen cabinets. It’s something I’ve been meaning to do before I go so that Peeta won’t have to come home to find rock hard raisins, flour with maggots or mouldy potatoes. Gale questions why I need to have that done right now and why I want _him_ to do it but when I ask him again he obediently leaves.

I slowly pull out the top drawer where my socks rest next to Peeta’s. His are all white or black while mine also come in brown, green and grey. There are a couple of thick knitted wool socks given to him by his mother but I was the only one who wore them. I leave them behind. They weren’t meant for me and if Peeta wants me to have them he has to tell me so.

Then I move on to the next drawer which holds my underwear. Panties, bras and what little I own by way of expensive lingerie goes into a box. The next drawer is Peeta’s underwear and I leave that alone, pulling out the bottom drawer to get my pyjamas and nightgowns. I’m not even sure which pairs of pyjamas belong to me and which belong to Peeta since we could wear the same pairs and never bothered to make any difference between different sets so I choose three pairs at random and hold them up to my face, inhaling the scent of my ex-husband which somehow seems to get stuck in every piece of fabric he wears. Then I pack the nightgowns and pull the drawer shut. I close the box even though it’s not quite full yet, hoping Gale won’t take a look inside. Then I hear his footsteps on the stairs and I set the box down next to the one with the rest of my clothes.

“I got rid of anything that looked stale or bad” he reports as he comes walking in. “I don’t know though about all of Peeta’s baking stuff. That white powdery stuff, for instance?”

“Baking soda” I guess. “It should hold. We’ll leave that to him.”

“Done with everything in here?” asks Gale.

“Almost” I say, my eyes going to the one item of furniture I’ve been trying to ignore. “Gale would you help me move the cradle? I don’t want him to have to come home and find it here.”

“Why not?” asks Gale. “Don’t you think it would mean something to him? You said it was his brother who made it.”

“The last thing Peeta needs is to come home and find a cradle crafted by his brother standing by the foot of the bed he used to share with his ex-wife” I say. “We’ll move it to the basement of my house. If he ever gets remarried and has a baby I can give it to him then.”

The words are out of my mouth before I can think about them and I hope Gale doesn’t notice that the thought bothers me as I grab hold of one end of the cradle. The rose from Snow is not here anymore. I threw it out the moment I walked into the room but I can still feel the sickening smell of it. What rose survives for that long and still smells like that? It’s eerie, even with Snow dead and buried.

“He’ll have use of this before you know it” says Gale in an alarmingly cheerful tone, grabbing the other end of the cradle. “Guys like him don’t stay single.”

“What do you mean?” I ask briskly, setting the cradle back down again.

“He’s young, charming, charismatic...” says Gale, generous with his compliments now that he no longer views Peeta as a rival. “He’s a victor living in the Victors’ Village and a war hero to boot. I don’t think he’ll have trouble finding someone to share his bed.”

“Peeta’s not like that” I snort, offended by the implication which seems to dawn on Gale.

“I didn’t mean it like that” he mutters, cheeks turning red. “I was just trying to say that... You know, that he’ll find someone who loves him. I know you want that for him.”

I make a surly face and take a new hold on the cradle. Of course I want Peeta to find someone to love him but does it have to happen right away? I find it strange that Gale would suggest that seeing as how Gale himself didn’t go looking elsewhere even after I married Peeta.

Without a word spoken between us we carry the cradle down the stairs and out the door, heading for my house. It takes some effort to get it down into the basement and once it’s there I grab a blue bed sheet and cover it to keep it from being damaged. Then I hurry up the stairs, not wanting to look at it any longer.

“Come on” urges Gale behind me as I walk into the kitchen. “Let’s go over there and get the boxes. Then you’ll have officially moved back home.”

“This is not my home” I snarl.

“I know” says Gale, looking down at the floor. “It’s the closest thing, though. The house in the Seam is gone.”

Without answering I walk out the door and head back towards the other house. Our feet have left marks in the frost that covers the grass and I glance up at the sky hoping for snowfall. If Peeta returns home today or tomorrow I’d rather there were no signs of our treks back and forth.

I leave it to Gale to close up the boxes while I take a last look around to make sure I’m not forgetting anything. Gale rises to his feet and looks around the room, seeing it for real for the first time. He glances at the bed with an uncomfortable face but then he moves on to look at the light blue walls. None of the walls of these houses are empty when you move in but Peeta and I removed all paintings the Capitol had put up. They were all of things we’d rather not think about. Cornucopias, Capitol monuments, important politicians, assorted images from the first war and even a few depicting scenes from previous Hunger Games. All those paintings are now piled in the basement. Instead the walls have been decorated with a few photographs and by Peeta’s paintings and sketches. There are some I would like to bring. One of Prim that Peeta painted and gave me as a surprise on Midsummer and a truly lovely watercolour one of a forest, full of trees and bushes and animals with sunlight trickling in through the leaves. It’s been hanging opposite our bed ever since Peeta painted it, making it one of the first things we see in the morning. He wouldn’t mind if I took it but as much as I love the painting I don’t know how I feel about putting his artwork up in the other house.

“Wow” says Gale in an exhale, walking over to a charcoal sketch that hangs on the wall by the window. He carefully grabs it and lifts it down from its hanger. “He really is talented. This is his work, isn’t it?”

 I nod, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. Gale walks over and sits down next to me, holding out the picture as if I haven’t seen it a million times before. It’s good. It’s really good. It’s a simple sketch of me from the shoulders up. I have my back turned by I’m looking over my shoulder, my braid hanging down my back. My mouth is open ever so slightly and there’s a look in my eyes that’s a little sad yet very focused, as if I’m seeing something I want just out of my reach. Peeta says I have that look on my face every now and then though I know it can never look as haunting or beautiful in real life as it does sketched by his hand.

“It captures you perfectly” says Gale, almost in awe. “I’ve never looked very closely at the things he’s painted before.” He looks up at me. “Is this yours?”

I nod, looking at the picture while memories of when Peeta gave it to me flood through me.

“It was a birthday gift. For my nineteenth.”

“You should keep it, then” says Gale. “It’s lovely and it’s something... I mean... You might want something he gave you.”

I raise an eyebrow, never having thought Gale would be the one to suggest that I keep a memento from my former marriage. Perhaps he means that I might want something from my child’s father. Either way it’s unexpected. I don’t tell him about the gifts from Peeta I’ve already packed and I take the framed drawing from his hands. My fingertips graze the glass, remembering the look of concentration on Peeta’s face when he’s working on a drawing and the way his hands seem to move so effortlessly over a blank sheet of paper or a canvas. It would be nice to keep this. At the same time I think I would rather Peeta had it. What would I do with it anyway? It feels odd putting a drawing of myself up on the wall and this is not just any drawing. A husband’s work of love for his wife. The thought almost brings tears to my eyes and I hand the drawing back to Gale.

“I don’t want it.”

“Then can I have it?” asks Gale.

“No! It’s Peeta’s. He drew it.”

“Yeah” nods Gale, looking regretful. “I suppose it would be wrong for me to keep a drawing he made of you. It is lovely, though.”

I nod and get up from the bed, taking the drawing from Gale and putting it back on the wall where it belongs. I walk over to the window and open it a little to let fresh air in. Gale suggests I should close it again since we’re ready to leave but I shake my head no. If Peeta’s not back home in a day or two I can return and close it but for now it’s just as well that it stays open.

Together with Gale I carry the boxes back to the other house which is now my only house. He offers to help me unpack but I decline so while I busy myself with the boxes he makes us dinner. It’s nice having him there, busying himself by the stove. I’ve never eaten a complete meal prepared by him before and when I sit down at the table I find that he’s quite good at preparing rabbit. He smiles crookedly and tells me that Hazelle wanted all of her children to be able to cook so for the past two years Gale, Rory and Hazelle have taken turns preparing dinner. I’m surprised I didn’t know that already but Gale just smiles and points out that I’ve never had a reason to find out.

We eat together, Gale doing most of the talking. When dinner is over we do the dishes together and I have to admit that the house is beginning to feel more like a home again even though the space taken up by Prim, Mother and Peeta in their absence seems to be enormous. Gale offers to stay and sit by the fireplace for a while but I tell him I want to head to bed, exhausted from a day of packing and cleaning, even though I’m secretly a bit frightened by the thought of being alone here.

“Sure” nods Gale. “That sounds reasonable.”

“Thank you for all your help.”

“It’s no bother” he smiles.

“Well, I appreciate it.”

“I’ll see you again tomorrow” he promises.

“You don’t have to work?” I ask.

“No not yet. There will be plenty of work in the upcoming months but right now you are what matters most.”

He places a tender kiss on my forehead and then he leaves. I take a stroll around the house and make sure all open flames have been snuffed out and turn off all the electric lights. It’s something I never learned to do when I lived in the Seam since we so rarely had enough electricity at night to worry about wasting any but while I’ve been in the Victors’ Village it’s become a habit. Then I go upstairs, put on a pair of pyjamas and with Peeta’s scent in my nose I fall asleep.

 

 

For a few days I find myself looking out through the window several times a day to see if Peeta has returned. When he remains absent I eventually put it from my mind, figuring that he will return when he feels ready to, though it’s hard not to think about what he might be doing. In the meantime I have my own concerns which mainly involve trying to find a way to live after everything that’s happened. Every morning I force myself to get out of bed and put clothes on, then I force myself to go out into the woods to hunt. Gale is usually by my side, feeling to me like a babysitter more than anything else. He insists on showing up at my door every morning and following me to the woods even though I suggest we should just meet up at our usual spot.

At first he’s just friendly. Then as the days turn to weeks he begins to turn affectionate. I’m not at all sure that I’m ready for a relationship, or even want one, but I don’t want to disappoint him and above all I don’t want to lose him. I know that he will still be my friend even if I rebuff his advances but I have a feeling that if he and I are ever going to be able to be together romantically I can’t turn him down now. Since I’m not sure what I want from him I decide it’s best not to let the chance of being with him slip away from me the way I’ve already lost Peeta. He is a good person, strong and handsome and devoted. He is my friend and hunting partner. He is a part of me and I am a part of him. If I had never been in the Hunger Games with Peeta I would have probably ended up being with Gale. I didn’t think about it when I was younger but now that I’m in my twenties and have a marriage in my past I can see things differently. The natural progression of mine and Gale’s relationship would have been to go from friends to lovers, that is what everybody expected, and with that in mind I don’t see any reason to make other plans. The fact that my heart doesn’t beat faster when he’s around and I don’t find myself thinking about him all the time doesn’t factor in. I’m not sure I can feel that way about anyone after everything that’s happened. I suppose Gale deserves for me to give him an honest chance and I’m beginning to feel lonely and longing for a man’s touch. It’s something I never felt a need for when I was younger but after living in a sexual relationship for close to three years I find it hard to be without that kind of intimacy.

When Gale kisses me three weeks after we’ve begun to spend time together again I kiss him back. The small encouragement is all he needs. He wraps his arms tightly around me and deepens the kiss, moaning into my mouth. Instinctively I press my body to his and it makes him moan again. I’m not as into the kiss as he is but I desperately crave the physical affection. I want to be able to feel something, anything, even if it’s just physical. Gale’s lips and his body are warm and welcoming and after all my losses and the devastating longing for the sister, child and husband who are out of my reach it feels like balm to the soul.

We don’t sleep together that night but in the morning I call Effie Trinket and ask her to send me a syringe of the contraceptive she used to provide for me. She sounds surprised since she knows about the divorce but she doesn’t question the request and a week later I inject myself with the substance and feel relieved knowing that if Gale and I begin to sleep together there will be no danger of pregnancy.

The following days Gale stays with me until late in the evening, eagerly kissing me and caressing me on top of my clothes which feels strange though not entirely unpleasant. It surprises me that he doesn’t venture underneath my clothes or make any suggestions that we should relocate to the bedroom. I don’t think it’s likely that Gale is a virgin but maybe I’m just assuming that because he is two years older than me and has always been popular with the girls. Maybe he’s just trying to take things slow with me. I end up being the one who takes our relationship to the bedroom and the look on his face as I lead him by the hand up the stairs sends a pleasurable shiver down my spine.

Sex with Gale is different. It’s strange to be the more experienced one. With Peeta I was always on equal footing and we were discovering our sexuality and our likes and dislikes together. Now, with Gale, I already know how I like it but he doesn’t and I haven’t got a clue how he likes it so I improvise. He seems overwhelmed by the whole thing so I keep it basic, letting him do most of the exploring, a task he takes to with something resembling awe. It’s an experience that can best be described as interesting since he doesn’t touch me and kiss me the same way Peeta would, nor does he explore me in the same way. On one hand it’s exciting to try something new and on the other it’s frustrating that he doesn’t know my body and can’t make me gasp with pleasure with just a flick of his tongue or the touch of his fingers at the right spot at the right time. I miss the familiarity I had with Peeta, the way we had come to so easily fall into rhythm and find our positioning and how we knew each other’s bodies better than our own. I need intimacy to fight the aching loneliness and I crave pleasure to erase some of the pain but I had forgotten to factor in that it will of course be different with a partner you’ve never been with before.

 I’m not prepared for how different Gale feels inside of me compared to Peeta. He’s longer and not as thick and he doesn’t move quite the same way. He’s rougher, less smooth in his motions, and I try to remember if Peeta was the same way in the beginning. Gale seems to go back and forth between being overwhelmed by the feeling to the point where he can’t focus on anything else, and wanting to touch and kiss my breasts, my neck, my face all at the same time, which makes our coupling a bit uncoordinated. It doesn’t always last very long but it was the same thing with Peeta sometimes, especially when we were just starting out.

I try to tell myself that sex with Gale is great but the truth is I’m not quite there yet. It feels strange, almost like it’s wrong, even though I try to tell myself I shouldn’t feel guilty over sleeping with Gale after splitting up with Peeta when Peeta as good as gave us his blessing. On top of that I find myself feeling uncomfortable being in such an intimate situation with him. Gale, the boy I’ve known for almost ten years, my hunting partner and best friend. I’ve never pictured what he might look or feel like naked nor have I given any thought to what sounds he might make in the middle of sex. Hearing his moans and the words that escape his lips feels almost too intimate, like a barrier I was never meant to cross.

When our first time together is over he’s happier than I ever think I’ve seen him and I smile back at him as I roll over on my stomach to get some sleep. I feel a little sore, either from not having done this for several months or from the difference in length and style. Gale settles in next to me and mumbles something about how beautiful and sexy and amazing I am before he falls asleep. I’ve never slept this close to him and it takes me a while to relax and get used to his presence right next to me. Unlike Peeta he doesn’t snore when he’s first fallen asleep but his breath is close enough for me to feel it on my neck and it feels out of place and weird.

One thing leads to another and Gale essentially moves in after that night. His family stays in the barracks and now that he’s my boyfriend, or something close to it, he knows I’m doing okay under the circumstances and he no longer feels the need to watch over me all day long so he goes to the Seam every day to help build the new house for Hazelle and the others. This gives me a lot of free time and I spend most of it out in the woods. I should probably visit Haymitch and check up on him but I feel ashamed to do so. I’m not sure what to say to him anymore.

After another week or so I come home to notice that there’s smoke coming from the chimney in Peeta’s house. I stop in my tracks. So he’s home. I wonder how he’s doing, what he’s feeling. I would like to stop by and say hello but a gut feeling tells me it’s not a good idea. We said we would always be friends but right now I don’t think we can be. It’s better to leave well enough alone and let us both lick our wounds and begin to heal.

I walk back to my own house, closing the door behind me without looking over my shoulder to see if I can spot him. He will probably come and knock on my door when he feels ready. Until then I should focus on the life I am beginning to build for myself together with Gale.

 

 

Living with Gale takes some getting used to. It’s odd how I can know him so well, know the deepest thoughts and desires in his mind and heart, read his mood just from the way he stands or sits and instinctively function as a team with him yet being around him every day, sleeping in the same bed and sharing all meals together is difficult to adjust to. I realize right from the start that despite what I’ve thought there are sides to him I’ve never seen much of or don’t know about at all. I didn’t know how cranky he can be in the morning when he’s first woken up. I didn’t know he was just as bad as I am at keeping the kitchen clean, which quickly becomes a bit of a problem. Most of all I never knew how Gale behaves in a relationship and I have to admit to myself that at first I’m not comfortable with having these new roles.

Being Gale’s best friend and hunting partner is something I’m familiar with and very comfortable with. Being Gale’s girlfriend is different. Every time he wraps his arms around me and kisses me the first I feel like it’s almost too intimate, which is ludicrous since we’re also having sex which is by anyone’s definition far more intimate. Even more challenging to get used to is the way he talks to me now. There’s a new tone in his voice when he addresses me, the words of affection he so often bestow upon me feel strange to hear coming from him and when he calls me “honey” after less than a month together I dig in my heels and object.

“What’s wrong with me calling you honey?” he asks and the offended frown on his face makes me feel guilty.

“I’m not used to pet names” I mumble, avoiding his eyes.

“I’ve called you Catnip since forever.”

“That’s different. That’s a nickname.”

“I’m not sure it is different” says Gale. He gives me an incredulous look. “ _No one_ has ever called you by a pet name before?”

“Only Haymitch.”

That seems to do the trick. He goes back to calling me Catnip or Katniss.

Little by little we adjust to living under one roof. It helps that he is away during the days, Monday through Saturday. Sundays are the best days, when we go out hunting together. Then it feels like old times and I think he notices just like I do that we’re the most comfortable around each other when we’re in the woods. When it comes to the domestic aspects of our life together Gale is a great cook, which is fortunate because despite Peeta’s best efforts to teach me I’ve never learned to cook very well. Dinner soon becomes one of my favourite parts of the day. Gale comes back from the build late in the afternoon, usually takes a shower while I clean my bounty from the woods, then he cooks while telling me about his day. I very rarely tell him about mine. While I’m out in the woods alone I’m fighting against the blackening grief that threatens to overcome me and when I get back home and Gale is with me I want to put it from my mind as best I can. I try to take it upon myself to clean up while he’s busy preparing dinner since somebody’s got to do it and even though I’m not a tidy person I’ve always lived with people who like to keep things clean so I don’t like it when the kitchen is a mess, especially not when we’re eating.

After dinner we mostly sit by the fireplace. I begin to read from the collection of books left behind by my mother and it takes me between a week or two to finish a book. Gale works on his snares or polishes the new boots he’s bought and takes very good care of, or naps on the couch. The evenings are quiet, pensive. This is the time of day when I miss my sister the most. She used to come over and spend the evenings with us, chatting by the fireplace, playing card games, adding information about medicinal herbs to the book we were working on. The book is still around but I never take it down from the bookshelf anymore.

I’m usually a bit uneasy when we put the fire out and turn off all the lights to go upstairs. Once or twice a week we have sex, which is always nice but never more than that. I attribute it to the overwhelming sadness that threatens to overcome me so often during the day and to weariness from everything we’ve been through. Gale is much more eager than I am but he understands my lack of enthusiasm and never complains. What I dread is the moment when the lights are out and we’re supposed to go to sleep. I would have thought one person was no different to sleep next to than any other but it takes quite a while to get used to Gale being there next to me. His pattern of breathing is different, he moves around a lot both before he falls asleep and after and his body feels different pressed to mine, holding mine.

Most of all he’s no substitute for Peeta when the nightmares take a hold of me. He’s not a heavy sleeper so my dreams usually wake him up before they wake me. When he wakes he always shakes me until I’m awake too but he doesn’t understand that the dreams aren’t gone just because I’ve opened my eyes. At first he’s gentle and comforting and asks me questions about what I’ve dreamt but I never tell him much because I know it’s no use. How could he understand the terror of staring into the eyes of Rue on the face of a mutt? Or the horrible sounds that came from Cato as he was slowly chewed to death? Or the pure horror and dread you experience in the launch room the last moments before you enter the arena? I don’t want him to think he understands when I know he never could and I don’t want him to tell me he never can understand. There’s nothing he can do to be sufficient in these moments and it’s not his fault, in fact I am grateful that he’s never had to learn to understand my night time horrors. It’s just not very comforting to me in the middle of the night when the horrors set in.

As time goes on he gives up on asking me about my dreams and settles for waking me up and then holding me in his arms. Pretty soon he begins to drift off almost instantly while I lie awake and wonder if this is how Haymitch has felt all these years, dealing with his horrors by himself. No one could ever say that I didn’t know how fortunate I was to have Peeta, who fully understood my nightmares, until he was gone.

“These nightmares of yours” says Gale one morning after I’ve had three during the same night. “Have you discussed them with your doctor?”

“Why?” I ask, trying not to yawn as I shove a spoonful of his mother’s home made muesli in my mouth.

“They’re getting out of hand” says Gale, pushing a fried egg around on his plate. “It’s every night. You thrash, you cry, you moan. Neither one of us has gotten a full night of undisturbed sleep in weeks.”

I pick up my glass of orange juice and take a big sip. I could count the number of nights since the Hunger Games where I’ve enjoyed undisturbed sleep on my two hands. It’s a part of life that I’ve grown to accept because there is no alternative.

“They’re just nightmares” I say instead, repeating what Dr. Aurelius has been trying to tell me. “They’re not unnatural.”

“They are when they’re this frequent” argues Gale. “After my father died I had nightmares for weeks but eventually they became fewer and farther between. Yours seem to only get worse.”

“I can live with it.”

“I feel like I’m going to go crazy never getting a full night’s rest.”

“They’re not going to go away” I say testily. “If they bother you there are three other bedrooms in this house.”

He looks taken aback and sets his fork down carefully.

“No, Katniss, I... I didn’t mean it like that. I want to sleep with _you_. I’m just concerned for your sake.”

“No need to be” I say, finishing my muesli and pushing my chair back from the table. “I’ve dealt with it for years. I can handle it.”

The truth is that I can’t but since there’s nothing he can do to help me I don’t see any point in telling him that. He’ll only worry and he’s got enough on his plate as it is. I walk over to the sink with my empty bowl and glass and grab the sponge. I really hate doing dishes but it’s something I’ve gotten used to over the years and I’ve realized that the sooner you get them out of the way the better. Gale doesn’t say anything, chewing slowly on his egg, watching me as I take my frustration out on the dirty dishes. I could use a full night’s sleep as well but I can’t help the nightmares and his complaints aren’t making things easier.

“Do all victors have nightmares like these?” Gale asks after about ten minutes of surly silence on my part.

“Yes” I answer, cleaning up the kitchen counter.

“About the Games?”

“Yeah, probably” I snarl. “The Games, the tributes whose deaths we are responsible for, the tributes we mentored and couldn’t save, the things that happened during the war, President Snow and his disgusting blood and roses smell, take your pick. God, Gale, it’s not like people who haven’t been in the Games never have nightmares.”

“Calm down” frowns Gale. “I was just asking. I want to understand this so I can understand _you_ and help you.”

“Well you can’t!” I cry, spinning around and smacking the sponge down on the countertop. “You just can’t. Just like people who didn’t lose their father to that mine explosion can understand what it felt like to stand there outside the mines and wait and wait and wait for your father to show up but he never did.”

Gale rises slowly and walks over to me, holding up his hands as if to calm a frightened animal. The gesture annoys me further and I turn around again so I won’t have to look at him.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t talk to me about it” he offers gently. “I feel like you’re keeping a barrier between us and I can’t get past it.”

I’m not sure why but everything he says just makes me angrier right now. I focus on a spot on the counter which hasn’t been cleaned properly and left behind a stain that I have trouble getting out. I forcefully rub the sponge over it over and over but get little result. Finally I snap, throw the sponge in the sink and turn around, shoving Gale aside as I storm out the kitchen door. It’s getting mild out now though it’s cold for the month of April. I leave without my jacket and at first I’m so worked up that I don’t notice I’m cold. Once I begin to shiver I stop and look around, trying to decide where I should go. I hear Gale’s voice in the distance and realize I’ve gotten as far as the fence that still separates the town from the woods even though it’s no longer electrified.

Ignoring Gale’s voice I turn and run back towards the string of houses in the Victors’ Village. I reach the road and begin to walk back to my own house, rubbing my hands along my arms to garner some heat. I don’t want to go back there but I can’t think of anywhere else to go. Not until I’m almost home and I notice that there’s a window ajar in Haymitch’s house. I wonder if he’s home and suddenly feel a strong longing to see my old mentor and find some comfort and solace with somebody who understands what it’s like to be a tribute and a victor. Eager to get indoors I hurry to his house and walk inside without knocking. I’ve only knocked on his door once or twice, the rest of the time I barge right in as if I lived there too. He does the same whenever he visits me or Peeta. I suppose there never is a need to knock when you’re visiting family.

“Haymitch?” I call out, trying not to gag at the stench that seems to have become a part of the house which you can’t get rid of.

There’s no answer. I walk through the hallway to the kitchen, expecting to find him asleep with a bottle in one hand and a knife in the other. Instead I find him awake, looking worse for wear but at least somewhat alert where he sits slumped over the table, head resting in his right hand. In front of him on the table sits a bottle and a small plate covered by a kitchen towel. The kitchen doesn’t smell as bad as the rest of the house. In fact, it smells like breakfast. I walk over and take a seat opposite Haymitch, harking loudly to get his attention.

“Well, well” murmurs Haymitch, looking up at me from the bangs that really ought to be cut. “If it isn’t the Mockingjay herself.”

“Is this the part where you admonish me for not stopping by sooner?” I ask dryly, reaching over and grabbing the bottle from his hand.

“No. It’s not like I’ve been over to check on you even though I ought to have. I believe I was the one appointed to look after _you_. You wouldn’t be trusted to look after a kitten.”

I snort and open the bottle to take a chug but my hand freezes halfway to my mouth when Haymitch moves aside the kitchen towel and fishes out a small slice of freshly baked bread. I set the bottle down again with a thud. Gale and I have been able to get a lot of things for our table which weren’t available to us when we lived in the Seam but one thing that used to be part of my breakfast everyday but I now haven’t enjoyed for months is bread. I take a deep breath and fill my lungs with the smell of the freshly baked loaf from which only a thin slice remains. That bread can only have come from Peeta. He must have been here earlier in the morning.

Surprising both myself and Haymitch I stretch my arms out on the table and bury my face against them, bursting into tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peeta will appear in the next chapter, I promise!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've lost count of how many re-works I've done for this chapter and I'm still not happy with it. It's gone through several different versions but at this point I don't think I will be able to "get it right" so I've decided to let it be the way it is. I hope it's not completely dreadful.

We settle in to a routine. It helps with the adjustment to living with Gale. I can’t understand how I can long for his company when he’s not around and yet find myself annoyed with him when I’m around him for too long. Somewhere deep inside I think everything has moved so fast and I just miss my friend Gale and I’m not ready for anything beyond friendship with him but that’s a thought I don’t want to linger on. This is where I belong and where I should be for the rest of my life. With him. There should be nothing to think about. Luckily Gale is understanding and patient, never complaining about my inability to be a warm and affectionate girlfriend.

We sit out in our glade every Sunday morning watching the sun rise while we wait for game to pass us by. These moments are still the best of the week, at least to me.

“I know it’s been difficult” says Gale one such morning, blowing on his mug of hot tea. “I never expected anything different. I mean... I hope our love and finally being able to be together has made it easier. Still, losing your sister... I never thought it wouldn’t be difficult.”

“I miss her” I say. “I miss her so much that...”

I’m unable to finish the sentence but I don’t have to. He knows. He loved her too. He wraps an arm around me and pulls me closer. I sigh and rest my head against his shoulder, feeling like I could cry but no tears come. It’s hard to put words to how empty my life is without Prim and how the worst part is knowing that never really means never and I won’t ever be able to see her again. At least with my child I can imagine that he or she is living happily and healthy even if we can’t be together. Prim is just gone, the same way my father is gone.

“Maybe I should have never taken her place at the reaping” I say. “Maybe if I hadn’t none of this would have happened.”

“She wouldn’t have lasted a week in the arena” answers Gale. “Not against that blonde boy with the sword who got killed by the mutts. Or that knife happy girl from the same district.”

“Cato and Clove.”

“Or any of the others.”

“Peeta would have looked after her.”

“No he wouldn’t have. Why would he? He didn’t know her then. Besides, you were the one who had to look after him, remember?”

“I just wish I could go back and find the one point in time, the one decision I made that led to her death. If I could just go back and have it all undone...”

“Let’s not talk about it” says Gale. “She wouldn’t want you to dwell.”

“She would have wanted to live.”

Gale sighs and says nothing for a few minutes, his eyes locked on the trees and the underbrush. He blows on his mug again and takes a careful sip.

“Looks like the Justice Building is the next to be rebuilt” he says after a while.

I glance up at him with a confused look on my face. Why would he tell me this? If there’s one thing I don’t care at all about anymore it’s the Justice Building or anything that has to do with law enforcement or government.

“What are you going to do when all the houses are rebuilt?” I ask, thinking of the wage he earns from the new government for each day spent at a construction site.

“Don’t know” shrugs Gale. “I won’t go back to the mines, that’s for sure.”

“You could be out in the woods with me” I suggest, thinking of what life would be like if every day of the week was like Sunday. “We could hunt, gather... Sit like this in the early hours of the morning. Go to the Hob and trade our game. It’s what we’ve always been most comfortable doing.”

“I don’t think I can do that” says Gale. “Not full-time.”

“Why not?” I ask, lifting my head from his shoulder with a frown.

“The thought of being out here all the time, thinking of nothing but how to feed myself and my loved ones...”

“Yeah?”

“I want more. I want to _be_ more, _do_ more.”

“Being a key person in the rebellion wasn’t enough?” I ask pensively.

“Our lives used to be about feeding ourselves” says Gale. “Now it doesn’t have to be anymore. We can do whatever we want!”

I look at the woods surrounding us and try not to show how surprised I am to hear him express thoughts like that. I know very well what it’s like to not have to spend every day fighting to make sure you have food on the table but unlike Gale I didn’t see the loss of that as an opportunity. When I came back from the Games and had more money and supplies than I could possibly spend I felt like I had lost part of my identity and I didn’t know what to do with my time when I no longer had to hunt and gather to keep us alive. Gale is right about there being more alternatives open to us now but I can’t help but long back to the days when things were simple and I knew what I needed to do every day while I now realize that he looks forward to putting that part of his life behind him.

“So what do you want to do?” I ask.

“I’m not sure” he says. “Something that lets me be involved. Like you, with the council, only... only I want to be involved on an everyday basis.”

"What’s so great about being involved?” I ask. “People like us aren’t meant to make the big decisions.”

“Or maybe we are” says Gale and gives me a look. “Maybe people like us are exactly the people who need to step up and shape this new Panem.”

I don’t know what to say in response so I remain silent and watch the trail before us. Gale keeps talking and it’s eerie to listen to him. He sounds like he used to sound back when I had not yet been in the arena, when he would take his anger and hatred of the Capitol out on the woods, except now he’s talking about how we can actually change things and how he imagines things being different. I suppose he’s right in that we do have the possibility now of changing everything around us but I can’t help but wish he would leave it to other people. I have had enough of politics and important people to last a lifetime. All I want is to live my life in privacy and seclusion and forget all about the darkness in my past.

 

 

It’s not the last I hear of Gale’s visions for Panem. At first he only talks about it out in the woods but it’s not long before he comes home in the afternoon and tells me all about what they’re discussing as they’re rebuilding the Justice Building. I quickly grow tired of hearing it, not to mention a little bit alarmed.

“Today was productive” he tells me one day when he’s walked inside the house and poured himself a large glass of ice water. He takes a few deep sips and joins me in the sitting room. “It’s too hot to work on the construction in the middle of the day so we all sat down and talked about the new system Paylor wants to implement. I think it has promise, especially the part about how she wants to appoint governors for each district. People who know the individual districts and know the people there should have a say in how the reconstruction progresses.”

“Interesting” I reply with no enthusiasm.

“Oh, and I stopped by the new house on my way home. Mother wants to know if you’ve heard of anyone who can use her laundry services. She has a few clients but would like to have a few more.”

Sitting on the bay window looking out on the trees three lawns over I barely hear a word out of Gale’s mouth. Peeta is out there, watering the trees, the bushes and the flowerbed that I planted my first summer in that house. From the distance I’m at and seeing him only from an angle I try to determine whether he looks to be doing okay. It’s been a few days now since I’ve last seen him. We still haven’t spoken since we left the Capitol.

“Katniss?” says Gale. “Are you even listening?”

“Hmm?” I say.

“What’s so interesting out the window?” asks Gale and walks over. He sees Peeta and snorts a little, shaking his head. “Do you want to hear about my mother or do you want to watch the neighbour watering plants?” he asks, walking over to sit on the couch.

It bothers me that Gale refers to Peeta only as “the neighbour” but if I point that out he’s going to get grumpy. There’s no point in trying to make Gale understand that I will always feel connected to Peeta and that I long for him. All the same I only give him a quick glance before turning my eyes back to the boy who lives three houses away from ours.

“Today is a year since they bombed Twelve” I say. “I’m concerned about him. It must be difficult today. I don’t want him to be alone.”

“He’s not” says Gale. “Haymitch is around.”

“That doesn’t mean I just stop caring nor does it mean I shouldn’t go over there” I point out, feeling disappointed when Peeta disappears into the house. Now that I can’t see him anymore I turn to look at Gale. “I shared a life with him and a bed with him for three years. I had his baby.” I don’t add that today I really long to be near him but maybe I should tell Gale that. “He will always be special to me. I should go over there and see how he’s feeling.”

“You really think he wants you to?” asks Gale.

My jaw drops a little and it takes a moment for me to gather my wits after that comment. I hadn’t even thought about that. Gale seems to take my silence as a sign that the conversation is over and goes to the kitchen to get started on dinner. I remain seated by the window, looking out towards Peeta’s house. I’ve been going back and forth on whether I should stop by and see if he’s alright or not and until Gale opened his mouth I was leaning towards going. The people he lost a year ago were my family too and it feels like I should acknowledge that and let him know that I’m thinking about them but if Gale is right then I will only make this evening more difficult than it already is.

“What do you want for dinner?” asks Gale from the doorway. “I see you brought home both fish and chicken. Any preferences?”

“Whichever is fine” I mutter.

“Okay. Fish it is, then.”

My eyes stay locked on Peeta’s house even though it’s too far away for me to be able to see him through the windows. Maybe he’s not even home right now. He might have gone over to Haymitch to make dinner. I don’t know if he does that at all but I don’t like the thought of him eating alone. He once told me that was the hardest part about moving from his family to live in the Victors’ Village. When you’ve grown up with people all around you it can be almost impossible to eat with nobody there to keep you company.

Eventually I give up and with a huff get up on my feet and walk to the kitchen where Gale is preparing the fish. When he sees me he launches into another monologue about employment for his mother but I don’t offer any comments. At least he still has his mother and he has all of his siblings. Gale really got out lucky. I envy him.

“You’re awfully quiet” remarks Gale when he hands me the plate of food.

“I had a long day” I offer. “It was hot out in the woods.”

“If it’s this hot on Sunday we could go down to that lake of yours and take a swim” grins Gale.

“You don’t swim.”

“Right. I suppose we’ll have to think of something else to do.”

I ignore the comment and focus on my fish. The last thing I’m feeling right now is amorous. Luckily Gale picks up on it and lets me be but I’m starting to get the sense that he finds my surly moods more frustrating than he lets on.

When evening comes I light four candles and place them on the bay window. I light them for my own sake but I hope Peeta goes out on his lawn, looks over here and sees them.

 

 

As the weeks turn into months reconstruction of District Twelve continues. Little by little the rubble is cleared out, the bones are laid to rest where the Meadow used to be and new houses are built. By early summer they have built not only homes but a few shops, trying to get the town up and running. It’s part of Paylor’s strategy for Panem, to have a market economy that will help us all to thrive. I don’t understand the specifics of it but I’m not trying very hard to either. I sell my game to the new butcher, a man named Grimes who I think originated from District Five. He’s surly and doesn’t say much but he seems to appreciate what I bring him. There’s not a lot of other meat around yet since most of the domesticated animals were killed or set free by the bombings. More livestock is being brought in from other districts but it’s going to take a while before Grimes can support himself without the aid of game from me and other hunters.

An apothecary shop is built. The bakery is rebuilt. A furniture store appears and next to it a clothes store. Gale works on one construction site after another in a tempo that seems almost alarmingly high to me. I know they want to rebuild the district fast and I know they’ve got personnel and equipment from the Capitol now but it all seems a touch unsafe to me. Mistakes are made when people rush.

Instead of the old Hob a marketplace opens around the place where the school used to be. Every day people gather here to sell and trade, both things you could get at the Hob and things we never had access to in District 12. A few families from other districts have moved here and they bring with them items that are commonplace in their homes but new to us in Twelve. Strolling through the market you can buy lovely crafted wooden utensils made in Seven, items decorated with seashells from Four and even small electrical gadgets from Three.

Every Wednesday I follow Gale to town in the morning in order to do some trading at the marketplace. I trade fur from my kills and herbs I have gathered in the woods. More and more often I get money in exchange which is new to me since we used to mostly trade goods. While I’m in town I always pass by the bakery and I always stop for a second to try and spot Peeta through the window. On the days when I do we usually share a faint smile before I continue on my way. He hasn’t sought me out since his return and until I know he wants anything to do with me now I leave him alone. Though I can’t seem to stop myself from taking walks past his house and glancing up to see if he’s there or hoping I will run into him in the street.

Gale knows nothing about this, of course. I can’t deal with the jealous reaction I knew he would get if he found out. Which is why I don’t tell him how much I hope I will be able to spot my ex-husband through the bakery window when we walk into town together one particularly hot July morning.

“Anything you need in particular?” I ask him as we reach the construction site he’s currently working at.

“How about some of that lotion to prevent sunburn?” he suggests. “I swear I’m going to look as red as a strawberry if I keep working out in this sunlight.”

“Sure” I nod. “Until I get it, try to stay in the shade.”

“Thank you for your invaluable advice” he grins.

He kisses me and then he’s off to work. I stroll lazily through the town that’s being built around me, enjoying the smell of sawdust and fresh paint that seems to linger everywhere this summer. If everything looked dark and grey and gloomy after the bombings it now looks bright and hopeful. People around me are in good spirits. Many seem to have decided to focus on the restoration of Panem instead of lingering on the painful memories and I can understand that frame of mind even if I have a hard time maintaining it myself.

My first stop is to the butcher where I sell two rabbits and get a grumpy comment on how I should start aiming for the deer instead. I leave Grimes and head over to the apothecary shop run by a woman named Gaia who I think is either from the Capitol or from District Two. She knows who I am and clearly seems impressed whenever she exchanges two words with me but she doesn’t bother me or talk to me like we’ve been best friends forever. I linger in her shop for a while, thinking that my mother could have run this shop if she had only returned to Twelve. The thought is dangerous so I purchase the sun lotion for Gale and make my way towards the market.

During the heat of summer they have raised a large tarp over the market area to help keep out the worst of the summer heat. While it does remove the sun’s burning heat I’m not sure it actually does much to reduce the temperature and there’s no way I’m buying anything there that might get spoiled from heat. I navigate through the market stands aiming for one in the back. It’s run by a man named Jolt who comes from District 3. He sells light bulbs, among other things, and since most of ours went out the first few days after my return home I’ve been stockpiling them for winter. Over the past few weeks I’ve developed a repertoire with Jolt and last week he told me about the portable phones he will be selling. I know portable phones have been common in the Capitol forever but nobody I know in Twelve has ever owned one. I want one for Gale so I can keep in touch with him over the day and he can let me know when he will be arriving home late. The phones will be expensive but Jolt doesn’t want money from me, he wants game, so I made a deal with him that for the next five weeks until the phones arrive I will bring him game every Wednesday and then I can take a phone home with me.

“Well, well, well” Jolt smirks when he sees me. “The girl from the Victors’ Village has come again. Need more light bulbs?”

“I brought game” I say and lift up the last rabbit from my bag.

Jolt smacks his tongue with approval. Suddenly there is a loud booming noise somewhere in the distance and I freeze. Memories of cannons firing to signal a fallen tribute, of bombs detonating high above us in District 13, of bombs going off outside the palace, killing my sister, they all flood over me and for a few seconds I feel a strong sense of panic.

“What do you suppose that was?” asks Jolt.

I ignore him, leave the rabbit on the counter and slowly step outside to see what is going on. A cloud of dust and a few yelling voices are coming from about half a mile to the east. Right around where Gale is working at the construction. Without a second thought I begin to run, wondering what has happened and praying that it has nothing to do with Gale. I can’t lose another person I care about, especially not to anything that makes the sound of a cannon or a bomb.

When I come around the corner I stop in my tracks, needing a moment to comprehend what I am looking at. The construction has collapsed. Instead of the skeleton of a two-story building there is now only a large heap of rubble. The collapse has driven up a lot of dirt which swirls around making it harder to see if anybody is moving but I try to tell myself it can’t be too bad. It wasn’t that big of a building.

Pliny, the highly efficient chief of police, has already arrived at the scene and had his officers set up a large red string of tape to keep people away, hoping to prevent chaos and further injuries. They must have gotten here only a minute or two before I did. The sight of the tape brings back horrible memories and I have to close my eyes hard and swallow a couple of times, reminding myself that this is not the same as an explosion in the mines. A small crowd has gathered, probably just to gawk which drives me furious, and I’m trying to decide what my best course of action will be when I feel a hand on my upper arm. I turn my head and there stands Peeta, wearing an apron and the same kind of clothes I remember he used to wear while baking, clearly coming directly from work. He’s got flour on his right cheek and looks a little flushed from the heat of the bakery.

“I heard the noise” he says. “Is this the build Gale is working on?”

How did he know Gale is working at a construction? I don’t fully trust my voice right now I so settle for nodding, swallowing hard and wondering if there’s any point in trying to hide how anxious I am. Peeta knows me far too well and has been with me in too many frightening situations not to be able to read my current emotions like an open book.

He’s not looking at me, though. His eyes are surveying the heap of rubble and the three men who are lifting beams and pulling aside blocks of concrete in the hopes of getting to the workers.

“I’ll go and find Gale” he announces.

This brings me out of my confused haze and I put my hand on his arm, somewhere in the back of my mind registering that the feel of him under my hand is both comforting and something else I can’t put my finger to. It’s been months now since I’ve touched him but he is still familiar to me. I get a similar feeling when his blue eyes meet mine, the troubled look in them turning into determination that matches my own as he anticipates what I’m about to say.

“I’ll do it” I say. “You shouldn’t go.”

“Katniss, do you think he wants you to be in there any more than you want him to be?” asks Peeta and gently removes my hand from his arm.

I’m tempted to reply that I don’t want _him_ there either but before I can get the words out he has ducked under the tape and begun to make his way to the heap. One of the police officers begins to object but when he recognizes Peeta he allows him to stay. A lot of people still look at us surviving tributes differently than they do others, like we have some mystical strength that carried us through where others failed. I see Peeta duck underneath a beam and stay that way for a minute before he takes a few steps back and then goes around to the other side.

The following five or ten minutes go by agonizingly slow and I keep trying to get myself to duck underneath the tape and go see what is going on and help out as best I can. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t. I’m a victor too and would be allowed in. I’m in better physical shape than Peeta and could do a much better job of climbing and crawling through the debris. What keeps me from going in is the nervous feeling in my stomach and the small voice of reason in my head that tells me I’m no use to anyone there right now. I’m too involved, especially now that it’s both Gale and Peeta out there. I see two other construction workers being lead away from the site, covered in dust and one of them with a gash on his arm that doesn’t look too nice. Still I take solace in the knowledge that they are both walking away from the collapse.

Then, finally, Peeta and Gale emerge from behind the rubble and I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. Gale has his arm around Peeta’s shoulders and is limping but he doesn’t look injured in any other way. I still aim to take him to the hospital to be checked for any internal injuries but seeing him on his feet is a huge relief. Both men are covered in dust and there is a large tear in Peeta’s pant leg but it’s on the left side so he didn’t hurt himself. I leave my spot my the tape and hurry to where Pliny is standing, which is where the guys are headed.

When I reach them Peeta and Pliny are holding up the tape for Gale so he only has to duck a little and him and Peeta make it over to the other side. Gale looks weary and like more than just his foot hurts but he smiles when he sees me and I think I’m smiling too when I throw my arms around him, pressing him close, happy that he is okay.

“Hey there Catnip” he says. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Gale what happened?” I ask, hugging him a little tighter.

“The whole thing just came down out of nowhere” answers Gale, sounding a little shocked and confused. “One minute I was hammering nails into a beam and the next that beam was over me.” He coughs and pulls back from the hug. “Has anyone else gotten out? There were seven of us in there.”

“Two are out so far” I say. “Three, with you.”

He sets his foot down and tries to take a step but winces in pain.

“Get that looked at” advices Pliny. “Probably just a sprain but you wouldn’t want to leave it unattended if it’s a fracture.”

“It’s not a fracture” decides Gale stubbornly. “I can’t hobble around with my foot in plaster. I’d scare away all the game.”

“Or make them laugh at you” I joke lamely. My eyes fall on Peeta who stands next to Pliny, coughing from all the dust he’s inhaled. “Are you okay?” I ask.

He nods, hiding his mouth behind his arm as he coughs again a couple of times. He looks at Gale’s wounded ankle, then up again.

“Do you need help getting to the hospital?” he asks.

“No” says Gale immediately and I know that getting more help from Peeta would pain him more than the foot. “Katniss and I can manage.”

I let go of Gale and walk over to Peeta. He deserves more than to be brushed aside like this. I walk slowly, fighting the overwhelming urge to hug him close and give him a kiss to express my relief that he’s safe. He’s not mine to do so with anymore. Maybe he never even was. I know I don’t trust myself not to give in to the urge if I stand too close so I stop when he is just out of my reach and hope that my eyes will be enough to convey to him how grateful I am for his help and how relieved I am that he didn’t get hurt.

“Thank you” I say, wanting to say much more but unable to find the words.

“Think nothing of it” he replies. “It’s what you and I do for each other.”

For a moment we stare wordlessly at each other. Gale calls my name and I reluctantly turn my head. He’s hobbled a few feet but looks anxious to get to the hospital and waves to me to come over and help him. I turn back to Peeta, mouth a “thank you” and walk over to Gale. I would like to stay, would like to get a chance to finally talk to Peeta again, but Gale needs medical attention. I wrap his arm over my shoulder and we begin to make our way towards the hospital.

Behind me I hear Peeta speaking with Pliny.

“I think at least two of the men are trapped in the basement. Rocky said he thinks we could reach them if we get the supporting beam out of the way.”

“That will take at least four or five men” answers Pliny. “Let’s wait until we have the rest of the accessible crew out, that way we can concentrate all our efforts on getting to the people in the basement.”

“I think it’s better to get them out as soon as we can” objects Peeta. “They might have more serious injuries. I think me and two of the others could do the job.”

I stop in my tracks, ignoring the confused and slightly irritated look Gale is giving me. I thought Peeta would be going back to the bakery, not back to the collapse. I move Gale’s arm off my shoulders, ignore him when he calls my name and walk back to Peeta and Pliny. They both look up when they see me, Peeta surprised and Pliny a little annoyed. I ignore him and lock eyes with Peeta.

“Don’t” I say.

“Don’t what?” he asks, looking confused.

Since I don’t dare to grab him by the arms as it might lead to me hugging him I place my hand on the back of his neck, feeling his ashen hair damp with sweat beneath my fingers. He seems surprised by the gesture.

“Don’t go back there” I say. “Please. Promise me you won’t.”

“Katniss I can’t just leave” he argues calmly. “I came here to see if I could do anything to help out and there are still people trapped in there.”

“Let somebody else worry about them” I say. “You’ve already done your part.”

“Every man in there is somebody’s loved one” he says softly. “If Gale was still in there you’d want everyone they would allow in. If Gale was uninjured he would be staying to help out, too.”

“I’m serious” I say. “Don’t go back in there. We protect each other, right? You wouldn’t want me running around in that rubble. Let the professionals handle this. They train for things like this, and besides, you’ve got your bad leg.”

I regret the words the second they’re out of my mouth, even before I see the wounded look on Peeta’s face. I’m not sure what possessed me to say it. All I mean by it is that he should be careful since he’s less agile than he was before his amputation but I know that it’s a low blow. He doesn’t tell me off angrily even though I deserve as much. Instead he grabs my hand and gently pries it off the back of his neck.

“Take Gale to the emergency department” he says, his voice calm and steady though the look that accompanies it makes me feel utterly horrible.

Then he turns and ducks under the red tape, heading back to the heap of rubble. I take a step forward, instinct telling me to follow and stay with him until he’s in no danger of getting hurt. Gale’s voice saying my name stops me but it takes more effort than I could imagine to turn around and leave the site without knowing whether Peeta has gotten back out.

 

 

Gale’s foot turns out to be sprained but his initial relief that it’s not a fracture is dulled when the doctor wraps the foot and orders him to stay off it for a few days. Gale’s features darken further when he learns that it can take as many as nine months before it is good as new. I sit mostly quiet, making mental notes of the instructions from the doctor and studying the medical images on the walls which I hope aren’t actual photographs of what a person’s muscles and skeleton looks like. When we’re done Gale is handed a pair of crutches which he probably won’t use and for the first time in my life I call a cab to take us home. The last thing he needs right now is to hobble all the way from town back to the Victor’s Village. While we stand outside waiting for the cab to pick us up my eyes go in the direction of where the collapse happened. Gale follows my gaze and his voice, which has been so annoyed the entire time we’ve been at the hospital, sounds soft and concerned.

“I wonder if they’ve gotten everybody out yet” he says. “I hope nobody is badly hurt.”

“It wasn’t such a big construction site” I offer. “Unlikely that anyone would get larger injuries.”

“I guess I’ll have to find work elsewhere for a while.”

It occurs to me that for at least a few days or a week or two I will have to be the one solely responsible for putting food on the table. I don’t mind but I wonder what Gale will do with his time if he’s just going to be sitting around the house. He has no more talent for idleness than I do.

When we get home I help him to the sitting room and prop him up on the couch, his bandaged foot supported by a pillow. I’m not very good at household things nor at being a girlfriend, feeling unsure of what is required of me in situations like these. I offer to bring him something to eat and drink but he says he would rather go and get it himself than inconvenience me. I feel tempted to reply that he’s probably more of an inconvenience if he doesn’t let me help but I decide against it. Instead I claim I was getting something for myself, too, and head to the kitchen. I put the kettle on the stove to boil and my eyes go to the road that leads to Haymitch’s and Peeta’s houses. I wonder if Peeta has left the construction site yet and whether or not he is okay. It’s too early in the day for him to have gotten home but maybe he’ll decide not to go back to the bakery. I take my eyes off the house and quickly prepare something for Gale.

“Come sit with me” he asks when I bring him the tray.

“In a minute” I say. “Going to make something for myself first.”

I walk back to the kitchen, grab my cup of tea and take a seat on the kitchen counter. I used to always sit like that before I moved in with Peeta, who had very strict ideas on what was appropriate on a kitchen counter and what was not. From my slightly uplifted spot I have a pretty good view of the road and I sit there for a few minutes, blowing on my steaming hot tea, hoping to see him return home. Then Gale calls for me from the sitting room and I get down from the counter to go and see what he needs.

The rest of the evening I want nothing more than to sit by a window and keep an eye out for Peeta but I keep getting pulled away by Gale asking something, wanting something, suggesting something. It makes me irritated and I wish he would leave me alone. He’s fine save for a bad foot but I don’t know what state Peeta is in and I can’t rest without knowing that he’s unharmed. It’s become instinct to me to worry about his wellbeing and I know I won’t be able to sleep or even relax without knowing that he’s alright. I don’t bother trying to explain this to Gale. He wouldn’t understand it and he would get jealous.

Once it’s gotten dark I have to give up my failed attempt at a vigil, realizing I can’t see properly into the darkness and that he could have gotten home hours ago while I was off doing something other than looking out the window. I help Gale climb the stairs and unmake the bed while he brushes his teeth. It’s only nine o’clock but he is tired and needs his rest. He gets into bed and I pull the covers up around him, leaning down to kiss his brow before I tell him I’ll be up in an hour or two. He’s asleep before I leave the room. Back downstairs I go immediately to a window to look out and see if any lamps are lit in Peeta’s house. There’s only darkness but that could mean he’s in bed too, or it could mean he’s in a room I can’t see from where I’m looking. Still, the thought that he might have gotten hurt and hasn’t come home yet nestles like needles in my stomach and I have to fight the instinct to give him a call. If he’s sleeping I don’t want to disturb him and I wouldn’t know what to say if I spoke with him.

Luckily there’s one person I have no qualms waking or disturbing, if he’s even asleep at all at this hour, and if something has happened to Peeta he will know about it. I walk out the front door and stroll towards Haymitch’s house. The air is cooler now that the sun has set but it’s still warm and humid, making me long for the height of summer to be over. The Victors Village is in darkness, the only lights coming from a few of the downstairs windows in my house. Haymitch’s house looks run-down and deserted as always but I’ve long since stopped even noticing. I walk up the steps to the front porch and open the door, trying to ignore the smell that I don’t think I will ever get used to.

The house is dark. I walk to the kitchen expecting to find Haymitch there but there’s no sight of him. A nervous lump forms in my stomach as I begin to wonder where he might be. In town? At the hospital with Peeta? Or just upstairs, passed out drunk on his bed? I rarely go up the stairs to his bedroom, feeling it’s a little too private and really not wanting to walk in on him if he’s undressed.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” asks Haymitch behind me, startling me. I turn and see him standing there, leaning against the doorpost with a bottle in his hand. “Come to have some tea with old Haymitch? A little late for a social call, nay?”

“I came to see if you had heard from Peeta.”

“He’s fine. Got home a few hours ago.”

“I’m glad to hear it” I say, trying not to show how relieved I am, not sure why Haymitch is looking at me this way. He turns the lights on, leaves the spot by the door and slowly walks over to me.

“Technically you are an adult” he says. “Had you been a normal person I wouldn’t have been able to tell you what to do. Unfortunately for you I am not only your mentor I am the person assigned to keep an eye on you and keep you in line.”

“You’re doing a splendid job so far” I say dryly. “Only, would you mind backing off just a bit? I feel like you’re smothering me.”

“I’m not in the mood for funny banter” says Haymitch. “You’re going to listen to me.”

“What did I do?” I ask testily, wondering why I’m being chastised like a child.

“Leave the boy alone.” It’s an order, not a request.

“I have been” I reply, stammering slightly. “Today was the first time I even spoke to him since--”

“I’m not talking just about your delightful conversational skills” says Haymitch, setting the bottle down on the table and leaning forward slightly. “I see you trying to keep an eye on him. I know you had your hands on him today out by the construction site. Let it go. You don’t have the right to do any of it anymore.”

“I don’t have the right to be concerned?” I ask angrily.

“You lost the right to let your concern show. Your confusing him. Or you will, if you aren’t already.”

“I’m not confusing him” I object, offended by the insinuation. “You’re too tightly wound if you think that running into him once is going to make a difference in any sort of way.”

“You left and that’s the way things are now so don’t let yourself or him forget it.”

“For the record, Haymitch, the divorce was _his_ idea.”

“And it had not even gone through before you were living with Mr. Tall Dark And Handsome” replies Haymitch with an icy tone in his voice. “Nice way of letting the boy down easy. Look, what you do is your business and I am not going to tell you who to love or who to be with.”

“Really?” I say, hating him in this moment for making me feel guilty. “It sounds like you are.”

“Just don’t forget that the boy loves you.”

He pauses for a moment to let it sink in and my face drops a little, my eyes examining the patterns my toes are drawing on the dusty floor.

“I know” I mumble.

“He needs to get over you” declares Haymitch. “He won’t be able to do that if you run around expressing concern for him, touching him and staring indiscreetly at his house whenever you pass it by. Don’t look so indignant, I’ve seen you.”

“Has Peeta said anything about it?” I ask, feeling horrible.

“He mentioned your... run-in today.”

“He came up to me” I point out even though I know it makes me sound childish. “I didn’t _stage_ a run-in if that’s what you’re implying. Honestly I would have rather he hadn’t shown up because then I wouldn’t have had to spend all afternoon and evening worried about him.”

"Don’t blur the lines” says Haymitch. He gives me another look and sits down. “I mean it when I say I have no intention of telling you who to date but I’m also not going to lie to you. The fact that you couldn’t wait to have your hunting buddy living with you once you were rid of the chains of marriage is disrespectful towards the boy. Your marriage may not have mattered to you but it meant something to Peeta. No, he hasn’t said anything. Knowing him he would probably never think such disloyal things about you but I have no such loyalty towards you, sweetheart.”

“You always liked Peeta better” I observe, taking a seat opposite him. It’s not an accusation, just a statement of facts.

“Out of the three of us he is the only decent person” says Haymitch. “You don’t owe it to him to conform the way you live your life to accommodate him but I do think you owe him not to rub salt in his wounds. He married you to save your ass, you know. The least you can do is not flaunt how much you wanted to be with somebody else.”

“I’ve done no such thing. I’ve spoken to him once since he came back to Twelve” I point out.

“Let’s keep it like that, shall we? If you’re done with him be done with him.”

“You’re being unfair” I point out. “I’m not even sure what you’re saying is what he wants.”

“He wants you to love him, sweetheart” says Haymitch. “You don’t. I hoped that you would, for the boy’s sake, but I don’t blame you for not feeling that way about him. You can’t control who you fall in love with. My problem is that because he loves you he will never be able to stop hoping you’ll feel the same way and because of that you can’t give him any signs of encouragement. I heard you left Gale to make his own way to the hospital so you could go back and implore Peeta not to go back to the rubble. Your intentions may have been merely friendly in nature but they could also be interpreted as you caring more about Peeta than Gale. I know that’s not the case but don’t let Peeta think it might be.”

“Are you done talking to me like I’m eleven years old?” I ask.

“When it comes to emotional awareness I’d say you are just about that age.”

“Why are you talking to me like Peeta is a complete idiot?” I retort.

“Because people are when it comes to the one they’re in love with.”

I roll my eyes and rise from my seat.

“I think I’ve had enough admonishment for one night.”

“Perhaps. Just remember that you chose Gale so you need to--”

“For God’s sake Haymitch!” I cry, banging my fist on the table like a petulant child. “Peeta wasn’t even somebody for me to _choose_ ; he ended our marriage and I’m trying respect his wishes. I’m staying away from Peeta as best as I can! What’s this really about?”

He looks at me silently for several minutes before he sighs, shakes his head and answers.

“Despite your feelings I really believed you had more respect for him than to immediately shack up with the guy you were emotionally unfaithful with during your marriage. Be with Gale, what do I care? It’s just how fast you replaced Peeta...”

“Go to hell, Haymitch” I say, my voice betraying how much his words hurt.

I storm past him, bang my palm against the light switch, leaving the room in darkness as I go. I can’t believe the nerve he has. He of all people does not get to judge me in this, or in anything. He has no idea how complicated the situation really is and how scared I am of losing the one person I have left. I thought I had Haymitch too, on some level at least, but it’s obvious that he will choose Peeta over me even though Peeta would never ask him to or expect it from him.

I leave the front door wide open as I hurry out, setting off in the opposite direction of my house because I need to walk some of the anger off. I head towards the woods, knowing no better place to escape to. The guilt Haymitch so generously bestowed upon me threatens to overtake me and I hate him for that. Until now I hadn’t thought about how it must seem to Peeta that by the time he got back to Twelve I was already living with Gale. Honestly I didn’t think it would matter. When he said we should get a divorce he talked about how I should be with Gale so I assumed he would expect nothing else than that. What was the point of setting me free if I can’t live my life the way I want to and be with the man I want to be with? Because I do want to be with Gale. Don’t I?

 I duck under the fence and head out into the forest. I don’t know why I’m suddenly feeling mad at Peeta, too. He hasn’t expressed any of the things Haymitch criticised me for. Maybe it would be easier if those words had come from Peeta and not Haymitch. Instead my ex-husband probably endures whatever heartbreak and pain he is feeling and genuinely tries to be happy for me while my ex-mentor thinks I’m a horrible person. Out of all the things he could think less of me for he picks this.

Not that I can say that he’s wrong. I never meant to hurt Peeta further but obviously I have. All I’ve been trying to do is survive and to find a way for life to have some meaning and happiness again. I know I haven’t succeeded. Not yet anyway. With Gale I’m not alone but I’m not particularly happy or hopeful for the future.

It takes almost an hour for me to cool off and by then I’m tired and beat and I just want to go home and climb into bed. The walk back home takes about twenty minutes since I’ve been pacing back and forth through the woods rather than just going deeper into them. I reach my home and walk inside expecting the place to be quiet and dark. The lights are still on but I turn them off and go upstairs, longing for bed. When I open the bedroom door I realize that I won’t be getting to go to sleep just yet. Gale is not in bed. He’s standing in the middle of the room, arms folded over his chest, looking angry at first but after a second his face turns to relief and he limps over to me, throwing his arms around me.

“What happened?” I ask, perplexed by his behaviour.

“Where the hell have you been?” he barks, pulling back from the hug and now angry again.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I wake up at half past ten and you’re gone! Nowhere to be found. No note, nothing.”

“Relax” I say, nudging his hands off my shoulders. “I went out for a walk in the woods. I do that sometimes.”

“At this hour?” asks Gale. His face darkens. “You went to him, didn’t you?”

“If it makes you feel any better Haymitch was not exactly good company.”

“Haymitch?” He looks at me with disbelief for a second. “You went to Haymitch? Why?”

“I needed to talk to him.”

“About what?”

“None of your business” I say, not liking the way he’s behaving.

“At this time of night I think it _is_ my business” argues Gale.

“It’s not” I insist, walking past him. I pull my shirt over my head and walk into the bathroom, leaving the door open as I begin to brush my teeth.

“I don’t think it’s a lot to ask that you let me know when you leave at night” says Gale after a minute, sounding a little bit calmer.

“I come and go as I please” I reply, mouth full of toothpaste.

“That’s not how a relationship works!” objects Gale, his voice full of frustration. “I _worry_ about you when I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t find you. I don’t care _if_ you go for an hour or so but I deserve the consideration of being told that you _are_ going.”

Being told I’m inconsiderate by him too is a little more than I can take at present. I spit out the toothpaste and bang my fist against the doorframe.

“I am _not_ inconsiderate!” I yell at the top of my voice.

It seems to startle him and he says nothing for a few minutes while I angrily get out of my clothes and pull a t-shirt over my head. Our eyes meet and I’m starting to feel ashamed for overreacting. He does have a point, I should let him know when I leave, but he’s overreacting too.

“I didn’t want to wake you” I say. “I didn’t think I was going to be gone that long. I went to speak to Haymitch, we got into a fight, I walked it off in the woods.”

He ponders it for a moment.

“You really went to Haymitch?”

“Yes” I reply testily.

He looks down at his feet.

“I was worried you had gone to... to _him_.”

“To whom? To Peeta?”

“After what happened today I...” He trails off and looks uncomfortable.

“So what if I had, Gale?” I ask, tired of having to pretend that Peeta means nothing to me.

He looks up at me. After a moment a slight smile appears on his face.

“You’re right. So what if you had? He’s just a friend. You chose me.” He gives a little laugh. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t doubt you.”

“No” I say. “You shouldn’t.”

He looks so relieved and I begin to feel bad. He’s had a terrible day and it’s understandable that he got worried when I wasn’t around when he woke up at that hour. I walk up to him and wrap my arms around him, feeling him pulling me close.

“I know I’m being irrational” he murmurs into my hair. “It’s just hard, you know? You were forced to be with him for years and I had to watch you being married to another guy. And even before that... Seeing you pregnant with his baby was... I can’t even tell you! It was a nightmare. One of the most difficult things I’ve ever gone through.” The comment annoys me, that the pregnancy was rough on _him_ , but I let it slide when he begins to place gentle kisses on my head, my brow, my cheeks as he mumbles softly to me. “I love you. I’ve loved you for so long. I thought I was going to crumble from jealousy at seeing you with him and it’s like I can’t quite let that go yet. I will, though. I will. All that was is in the past. You’re with me now, we’re together. We can have our future. The next time you have a baby it will be _our_ baby and we will get to keep it.”

I freeze and he realizes he said the wrong thing and eases his grip on me.

“I’m tired” I mumble. “Let’s go to bed.”

“Katniss, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay” I say even though it’s not. “Let’s just go to bed, okay?”

I help him back to bed and we crawl under the covers. My head feels like it’s spinning after all the twists and turns of the day. Gale shifts for a few minutes, trying to find a comfortable position with his aching foot, and while he moves around my mind keeps going back to what he just said about us having a baby. I think he thinks what upset me is that he reminded me that didn’t get to keep my firstborn and while that is part of it there’s a bigger issue that I need to address before I can get any sleep tonight. I turn my head and look at him and he smiles back at me.

“I’m never going to have another baby” I say flatly. “You know that, right?”

“The Hunger Games are over” he points out softly, brushing my words aside. “There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore.”

“There’s always something to be afraid of.” I shift a little and let my eyes rest on the ceiling. Having another baby means having another person to lose. “Another child is the last thing that I want.”

“I understand” says Gale gently. “It’s no wonder you feel this way, after everything. You’re not used to peace yet, or to having a future in freedom.” He leans in closer, turns my face towards him with his finger and kisses me. “You’ll feel differently in time.”

I look at him with surprise.

“No” I tell him. “No, Gale, I won’t.”

“We’ll figure it out, Katniss.” His smile becomes warmer. “Once you realize you don’t have to lose everyone that matters to you...”

The thought of what could have happened to Gale today tightens my chest and I roll over on my side, wrapping my arms around him and pressing myself as close as I can get. His arm wraps around me and he rolls us over so that he is on his back and I’m lying with his shoulder as my pillow. He mumbles reassurances to me and after a few minutes I’m finally able to relax and let myself momentarily forget about everything that happened today, though the last thought in my mind before I sleep is worrying how Peeta is doing tonight.

 

 

Summer turns to autumn. Gale soon regains the use of his foot though not soon enough for his own liking. I urge him to take it slow and not put too much strain on a sprained ankle and he reluctantly listens. For three weeks he stays at home but after that he’s so restless that I’m afraid he’s going to start climbing the walls if he doesn’t get some stimulation so we head out to the woods to hunt. We stay close to the fence and don’t have a lot of luck with our hunting but he seems much happier when we return home that afternoon. Once he’s able to walk properly without any pain he goes back to work. I’m not comfortable with him working at any more construction sites and we bicker about it for the better part of two weeks before he relents and agrees to try and find other work. A lot of the newly built houses need painting and he gets a job doing just that, which I think he finds monotonous but at least those houses are finished and stabile and won’t come crashing down on him.

As the weather cools and the leaves begin to shift colour I find myself slowly coming out of the intense sorrow that so often threatened to overcome me during spring and summer. The loss of Prim still hurts desperately but I begin to feel like I can live again, breathe again. My main focus in life is still to keep an eye on what the new government does and make sure that no laws that might hurt my child are implemented but for the time being it seems that Paylor wants to concentrate on reconstruction rather than retribution. This leaves me without a clear purpose and I spend most of my time out in the woods, not always hunting but finding some measure of comfort in the seclusion and the familiarity of my surroundings.

By now I’m accustomed to living with Gale as his girlfriend. I’m glad I have him to talk to and I enjoy being able to spend so much time out in the woods together. He begins to try and include me in the cooking and I have to admit I like being a part of the process with him from start to finish and not just hand everything over to him once the game has been skinned and cleaned. While the weather holds up we spend as much time as we can outdoors, either in the woods or out on the deck at the back of the house. Gale buys a barbeque from Jolt and begins to cook meat that way, which is both simpler and less messy than starting a proper fire. I experiment by putting different fruits and vegetables on the grill which goes so-so at first since they won’t stay on the grate. Then I remember what Finnick told me about how the District Four victors used to get together and put shrimp on thin wooden sticks which they then roasted over the fire and I give that a try with the vegetables. Gale can’t stop talking about how our newfound freedom allows us to enjoy these things we never had a chance to enjoy before. For me it’s been years now that I’ve had access to more luxurious kinds of food but it’s hard not to get caught up in his excitement.

We spend most of our evenings out on the deck, watching the sun slowly set over the woods. It takes a while for me to appreciate the sight but the more I begin to come out of my depression the more I appreciate the beauty around me. Sometimes it even moves me to near tears, this simple reminder of how beauty does exist in the world and how the children of Panem, how my child, will be able to look at something as stunning as a sunset and only think of freedom and beauty. I almost wish I could capture the sight somehow, in words or in painting or in song. The best I can do is sing but I only try that once. Gale encourages me to do it again but I’m not comfortable singing anymore.

Every day I wait for the feeling that happiness might be possible in some form. At the very least I expect the slightly more positive way I’m feeling to carry over into the bedroom. I still feel nothing when Gale kisses me other than lips on lips, tongue against tongue. When we have sex I never feel fully satisfied because while it’s almost always good it’s never amazing. There’s a component missing. The hunger. At first I don’t find it strange that it’s not there. It took a while with Peeta so it probably would take a while with Gale. Months go by and the hunger is nowhere to be found, no matter how hard I try to awaken it. It’s not Gale’s fault. He is attentive and passionate and he clearly seems to feel the hunger. I don’t know what the problem is. I try introducing new things to our bed play, new positions, new places. Gale is an eager participant no matter what I suggest and luckily doesn’t seem to notice that for me the spark isn’t there but I’m far too aware.

The first time I catch myself comparing him to Peeta I feel so ashamed that I almost freeze mid-motion but soon I accept it as something inevitable. Peeta is my only frame of reference and whatever he was doing it clearly had an effect that Gale hasn’t yet been able to bring. If I can only put my finger to what it is then I can solve this problem and feel the desire and passion that used to make sex something I loved and craved. It’s just that the differences I recognize are not easy to fix.

I miss the way Peeta kissed, whether it was a sloppy kiss or a deep kiss or his mouth trailing down my body. His hands were calloused and dry from getting small burns and spending so much time with flour and dough and in that way Gale’s hands feel better, softer, even though he has a few rough spots as well. If only he would move them the way Peeta did, touch the same way, let his fingers play the same way. Instinctively I know that this is something that can’t be taught or changed, they each have their own pattern of touch and motion. I find that Gale’s fingers don’t taste good when I try sucking on them. They taste like leather or meat or pine needles whereas Peeta’s would taste of sugar, cinnamon or cardamom. I used to find that it added something to the whole experience, the sweetness of his fingers contrasting with the hardness of his manhood and the looks and groans of lust and pleasure. Gale is always tender with me, even when he’s passionate, whereas Peeta could be both gentle and rough depending on the mood. I can’t explain to myself why I prefer the way Peeta would grip my hips, caress my breasts, wrap his arms around my waist or back. Maybe it’s just nostalgia, just me longing back to a time when life was simpler and I was happier and many of the good people who are now dead were still alive. It probably wasn’t as good with Peeta as I remember and I’m not being fair to Gale comparing him to a rose-tinted memory of the past.

Some things Gale does better. He likes to join me in the shower, lift me up against the wall and thrust into me while I wrap my legs around his waist. That would have never been possible with Peeta because of his leg. Gale is taller than me, stronger than me, making me feel overpowered in a way that I like when he’s on top of me. What he doesn’t do is nestle his face between my legs and work slowly with his mouth and fingers until I barely know my own name anymore. To be fair to him I’ve never asked him to either, feeling far too shy to ever ask something like that from him. Peeta tried it on his own and when he saw my favourable reaction he kept doing it.

There are other things Peeta did that Gale doesn’t do but a lot of it is difficult to put a finger to. For the most part I suppose it’s their difference in personality. Gale doesn’t play in bed as much as Peeta did, or much at all really. With Peeta I had a lot of fun in combination with sex. From pillow fights to tickling matches to Peeta pretending I was a cake and describing exactly how he would decorate me, complete with touches and kisses. Gale takes sex far more seriously, which doesn’t really suit me all that well.

I begin to realize that it won’t ever be with Gale the way it was with Peeta, for better and for worse. The hunger is not likely to reappear but maybe it never will again, no matter what person I’m with. It would just be one more thing gone, like how the energy you have as a child begins to fade when you grow older. Sex with Gale is still nice and still comforting and most of all it seems to be amazing to him which makes me glad. I no longer feel awkward being so intimate with my best friend and I can probably begin to crave this again at some point in the future. I just need to accept the loss of the hunger and stop expecting it. I try to tell myself that there’s nothing missing, that the odd feeling I sometimes get in my stomach has nothing to do with our sexlife or our relationship, but it’s hard to ignore.

What I find most difficult to adjust to is what happens after sex. This used to be the time when Peeta and I would lie awake and talk. I could talk to him about anything when we were enjoying the afterglow and he opened up completely to me, as if once the physical barriers between us had been torn down and we had been completely intimate with our bodies we could say anything to each other. I’ve tried that with Gale but he’s always so tired after sex and all he wants to do is sleep. He’ll mumble a “mm-hmm” or two but it’s obvious he’s not really listening. I’ve tried getting him to stay awake and talk to me but he complains that he’s tired and that it’s better to talk at any point in time other than right after sex. We still have the woods to have serious conversations in but it’s not the same and I can’t open up the same way. I miss that. I miss it terribly. Not until now do I realize how much I used to love lying awake together into the early hours of the morning, talking about anything, feeling completely connected to the person you’re with. Gale and I only have one conversation of merit after sex and it’s not one that makes me comfortable. It happens about a month after the incident with the construction collapse when Gale rolls off me and on to his back, pulling me closer to him while he fights to catch his breath.

“You’re so quiet” he remarks.

“Mmm?” I ask, moving a strain of sweaty hair away from my eyes.

“When we’re in bed together. You’re always so quiet. Am I doing something wrong?”

“What?” I ask. “No, no Gale... I’ve always been quiet.”

“I don’t get it” he pants. “I can’t stay quiet if I try.”

“I’m just not very vocal, I guess.”

“Okay” he says, not sounding convinced. “As long as you... I mean, as long as you’re not quiet because you’re not enjoying yourself.”

“I do enjoy myself” I assure him. “I’ve just never been the screaming type.”

“Then I’m going to make it my mission to _make_ you the screaming type” he grins before closing his eyes and drifting to sleep.

Try he does. But when not even real, strong orgasms have made me relinquish control enough to scream in the past there’s no way I’m going to be brought to that brink now. After a few weeks Gale simply accepts that I’m not comfortable making a lot of noise and gives up his efforts.

 

 

It’s a Tuesday morning around ten o’clock and I’m sitting on a chair by the front door lacing a new pair of boots to take them out on their first hunt. I’m wearing an extra layer of clothes because the temperature has dropped below freezing, it’s windy out and I have no intention of coming back to the house until late afternoon. A small window by the door is slightly open, giving me a sense of the temperature outside so I can adjust my clothing and gear to it. All is quiet while I lace the first boot but then a familiar voice breaks the silence.

“Come on, bread maker! While we’re still young!”

I look up from the laces, shock written all over my face. That is Johanna Mason’s voice. What is she doing in District Twelve? Why did I not know about her arrival? This can’t be right, I must be imagining things or hearing somebody who sounds similar to Johanna.

“Might be a bit late for you on that account” I hear Peeta’s voice replying and that sends me on my feet.

Through the small window I can see a little bit of Peeta’s house and the road in front of it. It is indeed Johanna, standing there by the mailbox with a look on her face that’s a mixture of insulted, amused and playful. Peeta comes down the steps to his front porch and walks over to her, wrapping a standard District Thirteen overcoat around himself while blowing on his hands to give them some warmth.

“You be careful, District 12!” says Johanna in a perfect imitation of the way careers used to try and intimidate tributes from lesser districts.

“Or what?” asks Peeta. “You’re going to kill me dead with one of your clogs?”

“Don’t put ideas into my head.”

She wraps an arm around his neck and he protests, trying to squirm free. She laughs, releases her grip and nudges him ahead of her, urging him to lead her to town.

“Patience, District 7” teases Peeta.

They bicker and banter as they make their way down the road towards town and I watch them every step of the way until they disappear around a bend and out of sight. I remain standing there for several minutes, trying to understand what I just saw. I had no idea she was coming and I have no idea why she’s here or where she’s staying. Has she moved here or is she just visiting? Is she staying with Peeta or with Haymitch or in one of the empty houses? Why didn’t she tell me she was coming? For that matter, why didn’t Haymitch mention it? We may not talk much these days but surely the arrival of a fellow victor should merit a conversation?

I grab my bow and quiver along with a pair of gloves, just barely remembering to shut the window before I leave the house. I stop on the front porch for a second, listening as if I think I can hear Peeta and Johanna even though they’re well on their way towards town. My curiosity is really woken now, along with a feeling I don’t want to linger on. As I walk towards the fence my mind goes there anyway and when I open the new gate that was installed at the end of the road a few weeks ago I’m not thinking at all about what I am about to do in the forest. Johanna was sitting next to Peeta on the hovercraft that took us away from the Capitol. He got off in Seven. Did he stay with her there? If so, why? There’s no connection between Johanna Mason and Peeta.

Except of course the obvious. They are both Hunger Games victors who have gotten to know one another over the years. They were also the ones who went out to the streets of the Capitol to act as decoy. God only knows what they experienced together those days and nights when success for them meant drawing the soldiers and the mutts away from us and towards them. I know better than anyone how close you can grow to someone under circumstances where your survival is unlikely. Then they were captured and brought to the palace and whatever they did to Peeta it’s probably safe to assume they did something equally bad to Johanna.

As I slowly walk deeper into the forest I can’t help but wonder what went on those days when they were in Snow’s grasp. Peeta put himself through all of that for my sake. To give me a chance to survive. It’s nothing new, sadly. He did the same thing in the arena and would probably do the same thing tomorrow if need be. In return he gets to be my neighbour while I build a life with Gale. It’s nothing short of a miracle that he doesn’t despise me at this point and he doesn’t even know the biggest deception.

Full of anger at myself and at the Capitol for all the evils they’ve put us through I put an arrow to my bow and shoot the first animal that passes me by. A weasel. Nothing I want to try and eat; carnivores don’t taste very good and I only resort to eating them when it’s the only thing available. I can still sell its fur so I pick it up and put it in my game bag. I know I have to focus now, concentrate on the hunt. I try my best to let the task at hand fill my mind and erase everything I don’t want to think about. There will be enough time to deal with unpleasant things later.

 

 

I come home about half an hour later than I usually do, my fingers and toes freezing but the rest of me warm from the exercise. I can’t help but cast a glance at Peeta’s house when I pass by it but there’s no smoke coming from the chimney. There is, however, smoke coming from the one on Haymitch’s house which makes me think that’s where Johanna is staying because for as long as I’ve known Haymitch he’s never used the fireplace. It’s always been Peeta, me or somebody else lighting a fire. How he stays warm during the coldest parts of winter I don’t know because the radiators in the house only heat the air so much.

When I step inside the house I see Gale’s coat on its hanger and I hear his voice calling out to me from the kitchen. I respond back, stop to get my boots off and note that there’s no smell of dinner cooking. Too bad, I’m starving. Gale appears in the doorway, smiling when he sees me. He walks over and gives me a kiss, then grabs the game bag to appraise today’s findings.

“A weasel?” he questions, holding the animal up by its right hind leg.

“Spontaneous” I shrug, taking my jacket off. “We could sell the fur.”

“Or give it to my mother. She could make gloves for Posy.”

“Sure” I say. “We could do that.”

I follow him into the kitchen where he has just begun preparing dinner. Chopped onions sit in a bowl and he’s got mushrooms on the chopping block. I walk over, grab one and stick it in my mouth. Mushrooms have never been a favourite of mine but Gale loves them and I’ve gotten used to having them several times a week. It’s one of those things that became commonplace to me when it was still as good as unobtainable luxury to Gale.

“I stopped by at the market on my way home” announces Gale, placing the wild turkey I shot on another chopping block. “I’ve got a few surprises. One of them is sitting in the bag on the table.” I walk over and fish out a purple fruit or vegetable I’ve never seen before. “It’s called an eggplant.”

“Doesn’t look like an egg” I note.

“It’s supposed to be delicious. You never had it in the Capitol?”

“Perhaps” I say. “Honestly I couldn’t name half the things they served at those large banquets.”

Per Gale’s instructions I prepare the eggplant and fry it in oil while he makes tomato sauce in another pan. Pasta, another Capitol luxury which I’ve rarely had and we just got our hands on two weeks ago, boils in a pot while we do the rest of the cooking. Today’s meal is vegetarian, saving the turkey for tomorrow. My stomach growls loudly and Gale laughs, wrapping his arms around me from behind and resting his cheek against mine. I take a deep breath to fill my nose with the smell of frying eggplant. My troubles from earlier in the day begin to slowly wash away. Until dinner is over and Gale puts his other surprise on a platter in front of me.

Muffins. Large ones, looking deliciously golden, made by somebody who knows what they’re doing. I used to have easy access to pastries when I was married to a baker but I don’t know if Gale has ever even tasted a muffin before. His whole face is lit up like a child on his birthday.

“I got them at the market” he announces. “Go ahead, try one.”

I grab the one to the left and remove the paper cup it’s sitting in. Gale does the same with the other muffin and looks at me expectantly as I bite into it. It tastes lovely and I smile widely at him. Then I take a second bite and the taste of apples fills my mouth. Gale notices my surprise and chuckles.

“I didn’t want to tell you. You should see the look on your face.”

I’m still smiling but when I reach the centre of the muffin the smile fades. There’s not just apples in the muffin, there’s custard. I should have realized it from the beginning but Gale said he bought them at the market. There’s no doubt in my mind who baked these, regardless of where they were sold. I set it down on my plate, unable to get another bite down.

“What is it?” asks Gale. “What’s wrong?”

“Peeta baked these.”

“What? No. I got them at the market.”

“Maybe but he made them.”

“Katniss, the Mellarks aren’t the only bakers in Panem” argues Gale and I can tell he’s annoyed now. “Or even in Twelve these days.”

“Look, I know my husband’s baking, okay?” I realize the slip the second it leaves my mouth. Gale noticed it, that much is obvious from the look on his face. My irrational reaction is to go on the offense even though none of this is Gale’s fault and he only wanted to do something nice for me. “Peeta used to make these with his brothers and I know them well. I don’t know how they ended up in the market but trust me, nobody else baked these. If you want to avoid all further mentioning of him and pretend he never existed in my life then buying pastries is not the best move.”

Gale looks at me for what feels like forever, hurt and disappointment written on his face. Then he rises, takes both muffins and throws them in the trash. He walks out of the room and I close my eyes, rubbing my temple with my right hand. I sit like that for a long time. Then I get up and walk over to the sink, getting started on the dishes.

 

 

Two days later I sit out by the lake, staring aimlessly ahead of me. It’s not been a good two days. Gale forgave me for my outburst at the table but things are not as they should be between us right now. Part of that might be because he picks up on the fact that my mind is preoccupied.

I don’t know if he’s heard that Johanna Mason is in Twelve or if he would even care if he knew but the last thing I need right now is for Gale to learn that she’s here and that she’s spending time with Peeta and start a fight about why it’s so distracting to me. I can’t blame Gale for feeling insecure when it comes to my ex-husband even though Peeta and I are barely in each other’s lives anymore. He must know that I miss him and when it comes to Peeta Gale does not react well to any form of attachment that I have, whether it’s strictly platonic or not. We will always have been married and we will always share a child and we will always have been victors together but Gale doesn’t seem to understand.

I give up on hunting. It’s no use, I’m not going to get anything today. I don’t need to either, we do pretty well as far as feeding ourselves goes. I still receive money from the government even though the victors’ pension is smaller now than it was before the war. Gale earns money painting houses and since I have nothing better to do than spend my days out in the woods I bring home more game than we actually need.

As I come back to the lane of house in the Victor’s Village a thought occurs to me. Johanna Mason should be my friend as well. We began to overcome our differences during the rebellion and I understand her abrasive personality much better now. So what if she is here visiting Peeta? I should stop by and see her. In fact, as a show of good will, I should stop by right now and offer them the rabbit I caught in Gale’s snare. My one trophy from today’s hunt.

Instead of walking to my own house I head for Peeta’s. I head for the kitchen door because something about ringing the doorbell rubs me the wrong way. This used to be my house too and I don’t want to act like a visitor, even though that is what I am these days. The kitchen door will do fine.

As I approach the kitchen I hear sounds of laughter coming from inside and it halts me for a second. I throw it off, not quite sure of why it made me react that way, and walk the two steps up to the door. Then I freeze. Through the kitchen door window I can see them. Peeta and Johanna, baking cookies together, having a blast. The place is a mess with flour everywhere and dirty bowls and appliances spread across the entire kitchen. Over by the kitchen island Peeta is trying to show Johanna how to shape her cookies properly and she fails spectacularly, to both their amusement.

Quick as lighting I step down from the window before they can see me. There is no way I can knock on that door now. I can’t define the feeling that cuts through me and I certainly can’t justify it. It’s almost as if I’m feeling jealous, though that can’t be the right word. Peeta and Johanna are friends. Friends visiting one another and baking cookies together is not that strange. I saw nothing that could be considered indecent or anything other than innocent so why does it bother me so much? Even if I had seen them locked in a kiss, or worse, what difference would that have made? Am I really so selfish that the very thought of Peeta loving someone else bothers me? I was the one who chose Gale over Peeta. He owes me nothing. If Johanna can make him happy I should be supportive of that. I _want_ to be supportive of that. I want him to be happy.

So why do I feel this way? Why did the sight of them together bring back so many memories? Not just memories of Peeta and me in that kitchen but memories of him showing Prim how to create tiny little primroses out of marzipan. I cling to that particular memory and the implications of it. It’s not the sight of Peeta and Johanna together that bothers me, I tell myself. It’s the memories of a life now gone; a life where my sister was alive and happy.

Frightened by my own reaction I hurry home and take my refuge upstairs. I go to the bedroom and sit down on the bed, trying to will myself not to care about what I just saw. I can’t help wondering why Johanna hasn’t come to see me. I live three houses away from Peeta, a simple social call doesn’t seem out of order. I feel left out and it hurts. Is it Peeta, Haymitch and Johanna now? Did I trade my post-Games family for Gale? Am I to be excluded because I chose somebody else to be with? Perhaps it is only fair but it still hurts.

I’m still up in the bedroom when Gale comes home and when I hear him enter the house I get off the bed and walk down the stairs. As if today hadn’t been difficult enough he immediately drops a bomb on me, so excited about his news that he can’t contain himself.

“I’m done painting houses, Catnip!”

“Oh? What’s wrong with painting houses?” I ask.

“Nothing. It’s just not what I’m meant for. I think I’m going to run for mayor.” My stunned silence doesn’t discourage him at all. If anything it has the opposite effect. “Or maybe even governor.”

“But you’re too young” I object. “Too inexperienced. You don’t know the first thing about politics. This is crazy.”

“I know but it’s so right!” grins Gale, putting his hands on my shoulders and giving me a kiss. “It’s going to be so great. Just you wait and see!”

He’s so excited but to me this is not at all good news. How are we supposed to lay low and stay out of the news if he’s running for mayor or governor?

His enthusiasm seems unquenchable. The following weeks it seems like it’s all I hear about. I start feeling depressed again, worried what Gale’s political ambitions will lead to and seeing my calm, quiet, secluded life fading away. On top of that I’m feeling snubbed by Haymitch, Peeta and Johanna and it makes me lonely in a way that Gale could never make up for. I make a point not to so much as glance at Peeta’s house when I pass it by and to not acknowledge in any way that I know Johanna is in the district. Eventually she leaves but I don’t even know for how long she stayed. My life goes on with Gale while Peeta and Haymitch move on without me.

 

 

I don’t see Peeta again until April, when the snows have melted and the days have grown longer and warmer. It’s almost an accomplishment to go so many months without catching one glimpse of a person who lives on the same street to you but I assume that he works long hours at the bakery in town and when you combine that with my time spent in the woods it might not be so strange after all. Especially not if you factor in how I’m trying not to run into him despite how much I long to see him.

It’s early morning and still rather cool and crispy outdoors. I’m up early to see Gale off. He’s going to town to meet with officials from the Capitol about running for mayor or governor. I follow him as far as the front porch, wrapping my warm robe around myself yet still shivering slightly. He walks down the short path to the mailbox by the road and gets the morning paper. It’s a novelty they launched six months ago, a Capitol thing that’s carried over to the districts. Every morning we get a newspaper detailing the latest happenings in politics, development and general gossip. It’s a landmark, really. For the first time we get news of what happens in other districts.

My eyes leave Gale when I hear a door opening. I look towards Peeta’s house and see him stepping out into the chilly morning with his old bread basket, the one he used to use to carry bread to starving people. It looks full, covered by a red and white kitchen towel. The thought of bread makes my mouth water. I haven’t had any since I left the Capitol, not even the old kind of bread we used to eat in the Seam.

Then Peeta turns and notices me. He stops for a moment, then smiles a little. I stare at him in silence, noting that he looks stronger and healthier than when I last saw him. He walks down from his porch and to my surprise crosses over the front lawns between our houses and takes one step up the porch to my house. Without taking his eyes off me he reaches into the basket and pulls out a loaf of cheese bread, so freshly baked that it’s still steaming. My eyes lock on the bread, my mouth watering at the sight and smell. How I used to love these. Peeta knew it and used to bake them for me which eventually made me tire of them. Now it seems impossible that I ever grew tired of such delicacies.

“Here” says Peeta and holds it out to me. “Take it.” I just stare at him in silence for almost a full minute. He laughs and takes another step up to place it in my hand. “I haven’t forgotten they’re your favourite.”

I look down at the bread in my hand, then back up at my ex-husband. Why is he being so nice to me? I don’t deserve it, not even a little. He’s still got that friendly smile on his face. I wish I could muster a smile in return but my face is probably just looking surprised.

“Thank you” I manage.

“Any time.” He walks back down to the lawn and turns to me again. “I need to get going. Haymitch wants his bread early so he can eat it and go to sleep.”

“He still doesn’t like to sleep when it’s dark?” I ask.

“Probably never will.” He looks over at Gale and gives him a nod by way of greeting. Then he walks towards Haymitch’s house.

My eyes follow him until Gale walks up the steps with the paper in his hand. He looks over at Peeta’s retreating figure, then at the bread in my hand.

“Wish me luck” he says, offering no comment on the bread.

We kiss and he hurries off. I go back inside the house and head straight for the kitchen where I prepare breakfast with a big smile on my face.

 

 

I’m still in a good mood when Gale comes home a few hours later but it only takes one look at him for that good mood to vanish. He looks like he’s in disbelief over something, strangely seeming both excited and upset at the same time.

“What?” I ask nervously. “What is it?”

“They don’t consider me fit to run for mayor or governor” says Gale. “They think I’m too young and inexperienced.”

“Oh” I say. “I’m sorry.”

“Instead...” He laughs a little as if he can’t believe what he’s about to say. “Instead they offered me a job in District 2. They’re reforming the whole military and they want me to come and work there, training recruits and being a public face for the armed forces. It’s an amazing job, Katniss! Better than I could have ever dreamed of.”

I stand there completely floored, unable to grasp what he’s saying. A job in District 2? A very high profile public job at that? Panic begins to build in my chest. The last thing I want is to move to another district and I most certainly don’t want to be in the public’s eye anymore. I latch on to the fact that I’m still forbidden to leave District 12 but as if he’s reading my mind Gale addresses that right away.

“They’ve even arranged for you to be able to come with me. Your confinement has been extended to District 2.”

“What?”

A wave of nausea flows through me. I have to deter him somehow but I can’t. This is clearly something he wants desperately and as his girlfriend I should be supportive and go with him. How can I tell him that I don’t want to go? He steps closer to me and something about the look in his eyes makes me even more nervous. I know this look. It’s the one he has on his face when he’s about to say something really important. Oh God, he’s not going to propose to me, is he? I’m not ready for that, not by a long shot.

“Gale I can’t” I say quickly, before he can have the chance to speak. “I won’t.”

“Katniss.” He says my name as if I’m a child who doesn’t understand that you have to eat food and not survive solely on candy. “This... This is an incredible opportunity for me. One too good to pass up on. Of course we’re leaving. There’s nothing tying us to this place.”

“Your family” I suggest.

“You will be my family. You _are_ my family.”

“And what about _my_ family? Haymitch and Peeta. I can’t move away from them.”

“ _Family_? You never even see them” argues Gale. He’s getting annoyed now. This is clearly not going the way he had hoped. “You don’t do anything here that you can’t do in any other district. What does it matter to you if you’re in this house or some other?”

His insinuation that my life is empty and without meaning aggravates me, partially because it’s a sore spot for me. I can’t remember the last time I felt like my days had meaning and I suppose I can’t blame Gale for wanting meaning in his but I can’t believe that he is throwing the emptiness of my life in my face. What gives him the right to do that? Good for him if he has bigger ambitions but I’m not willing to uproot myself for him to be able to realize them.

“I won’t go” I insist. “I belong here.”

“How can you be so selfish?” asks Gale with a touch of worried disbelief. “You love me and this is the biggest opportunity I have ever been given. You can’t expect me to turn it down to stay here and paint houses while you sit around in the woods and trade your game at the market.”

I’ve never heard this kind of bitterness in his tone. Not directed at me. He must have been carrying these thoughts and feelings for quite some time. The strange thing is I don’t feel any desire to ease his hurt or restlessness. I want to stay here in Twelve and away from the limelight. I want to stay close to the people who matter to me.

“Do as you will” I tell him. “Take the job and move to Two. I will stay.”

He looks at me with disbelief and slowly shakes his head, trying to wrap his mind around what I’m saying.

“How can you say that? How can you not want to be where I am? Go where I go?” There’s a pause but when I open my mouth to answer he silences me by holding up his palm. “No. I can guess the answer, can’t I? You’re not connecting with me. You hardly ever smile when we’re kissing or making love or doing anything else couple related. You want me as your friend but you’re not in love with me.” His voice trembles a bit when he continues. “Can you tell me I’m wrong?”

I can’t meet his eyes. I look down on the floor, trying to grasp what is happening. It’s all happening so fast, almost out of nowhere, but I know he’s right. I look back up at him.

“No.”

The hour that follows is pure misery. Gale is furious, heartbroken, pleading, incredulous and vicious, all at the same time. All the while the feeling that begins to grow in me is not despair, sadness or even guilt. It’s relief. I feel almost as if the past year and months with him have been like the charade I once performed with Peeta and now that it is ending I am free for real and I can breathe. Finally Gale begins to see that I am not going to ask him to stay with me or pledge to follow him anywhere to save our relationship. He must have been hoping that if he threatened to take away his love I would be willing to do just about anything to make him stay and my reaction is clearly bitter for him.

“I’m sorry” I tell him. “I never wanted to hurt you. I wanted to _keep_ you.”

“You can’t date me just so you won’t lose me as a friend” says Gale in a bitterly heartbroken voice. He walks up to me, kisses my brow and sighs.

“You mean so much to me” I tell him but then I remember Haymitch’s words about Peeta and I realize they are also true of Gale. If I don’t want him I need to set him free. It’s cruel in the moment but merciful in the long run. “I tried to love you. I thought I was supposed to. I don’t know if I even realized it until now but the fact is I _don’t_ love you. Not as anything more than a best friend.”

He nods in acceptance and I see tears in his eyes. I reach up to dry them away but he takes a step back.

“I love you” he says. “I will always love you. I just don’t think I can be in your life right now.”

“You mean you can’t forgive me for not loving you like you love me.”

“I need some time” he says. He swallows and looks so miserable that it makes more tears fall down my cheeks. “I leave in a week. Until then I’ll be staying with my family.”

“I’m sorry it had to be this way” I say.

“So am I.” He walks slowly towards the door and I follow, dreading the moment when he’ll walk out the door. He stops and looks at me. “You light up when you see him.”

“What?” I say, confused enough as it is.

“Your whole face, it lights up. Your posture. Your mood. _You_.”

“It’s not so odd” I say defensively, wrapping my arms around myself and avoiding Gale’s eyes. He doesn’t need to spell out who he’s talking about. “We’re friends and we hardly ever see each other so it’s nice when we do.”

“I’m your best friend” replies Gale. “Or at least I was. When you got married you barely saw me at all for quite a long time and when you did your face never lit up the way it does when you see him.”

I swallow and keep looking anywhere but at Gale. It feels like an accusation though I know it’s not meant that way. It’s merely an observation. If that, even.

“You read too much into it” I say.

“You don’t read enough into it” he replies.

He walks out the door and closes it behind him. I’m all alone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the last we'll see of Gale but he's not going to be around for a while. I don't know how well it came across but the idea is that they both made poor decisions to try and get what they wanted (in Gale's case a relationship, in Katniss' case keeping their close friendship) and the end result is both losing. I wanted to explore what would happen if they did get together, since Katniss doesn't love him that way but under the right circumstances might tell herself that she could.  
> I know I still haven't shown much of what Peeta is thinking and feeling but there will be more of that in the next chapter.


	13. Chapter 13

If living with Gale was hard to get used to then living without him is even more difficult. I miss him every day though I know in my heart I don’t miss him the way he wants me to. I miss my friend and hunting partner. With him gone I have nobody left to talk to and the house is too damn quiet. I can feed myself, clothe myself, take care of things around the house and handle my finances but the need for human companionship is not something I can fulfil on my own. At daytime I do quite alright, spending my time out in the woods, sometimes even enjoying the solitude. Evenings and nights are worse. Until now I never understood the full meaning of what Peeta said about the difficulty of eating alone. I’m not a good cook to begin with and I have no interest in preparing anything fun when it’s just me eating. I don’t mind having lunch by myself in the forest but sitting at the kitchen table with no one to talk to and no sound but for the ticking of the clock makes it hard to swallow a single bite.

Going to bed alone is both difficult and relieving. I miss the company of another human being but I also enjoy having the whole bed to myself. I don’t think I ever got completely used to sharing my bed with Gale. There was always something strange about having his body next to mine under the sheets and my limbs often felt out of place pressed up against his at night. He was never talkative after we had gone to bed which sometimes made me feel awkward, like I wasn’t sure what we were supposed to do once the lights were out. Most of all I had no help from him when I woke from a nightmare. When I think back on the time we spent together it almost made it worse having him there after a nightmare when there was nothing he could do to make me feel better.

Slowly the days go by. I’m determined to manage on my own but it’s hard to ignore that I’ve suffered yet another loss. I hate knowing that I’ve hurt Gale just like I hurt Peeta in the past and I worry that I will have lost him just like I lost Peeta. I know by now that parting as friends, which I’m not even sure we did, by no stretch of the imagination means you’ll actually stay friends. I barely speak to Peeta, no matter how badly I want to talk to him, and he lives just a few houses away. Gale is in a whole other district in the other end of Panem. Even if he does come back it’s never going to be the same between us. We can’t go back to being hunting partners and best friends. I will always be the woman he loved who couldn’t love him back.

Eventually I can’t stand the solitude any longer and I go to see Haymitch. I find him sitting out on his back porch feeding a flock of geese, a large sunhat pulled down over his head to shield his eyes from the sun. He doesn’t look surprised to see me and doesn’t object when I take a seat next to him on the old wooden bench.

“Geese?” I say.

“Makes as much sense as anything else” he shrugs. We sit silently for a few minutes, me watching him throw breadcrumbs to the flock of birds. “So the hunter left.”

“He did” I acknowledge.

“Why?”

“I guess he saw through me.”

Haymitch gives me a strange look. He then reaches down on the floor beneath him and picks up a bottle which he hands to me. I take it without question and open it. The first chug burns my mouth and my throat and feels horrid as it goes down. The warm sensation that spreads through me makes it a little better and I study the bottle to try and determine how drunk I would get if I finished the whole thing.

“Guess you think it serves me right” I mutter.

“Did you want him to stay?”

I think about it for a second before answering.

“No... Not as my boyfriend, no.”

“Maybe you should try not having any boys around for a while” suggests Haymitch. “I never had you pegged for the type who needs a man in her life.”

“Me neither” I say, taking another gulp of liquor to stop the tears I feel coming. “So how come I feel so achingly lonely?”

“I don’t know” says Haymitch. “Why haven’t you come sooner? You _can_ talk to me, you know.”

“Yeah, sure” I snort. “I came for the drink, Haymitch, not for your shoulder to cry on.”

“Time was you used to turn to me with your troubles.”

“You hated it” I say. I shake my head and laugh joylessly. “Don’t tell me I can turn to you when I need a friend. You didn’t bother to tell me when Johanna came to Twelve. Why should I think I matter to you at all now? You left, just like everybody else.”

“I didn’t tell you about Johanna because she was the boy’s guest” says Haymitch and I hate the pain I feel in my heart when he confirms that she was here to visit Peeta. “They’ve been helping each other. He can’t talk to me about what happened to him on the Capitol streets and as Snow’s prisoner. She understands. He understands her. You know what I’m talking about.”

I do, all too well. I take another chug from the bottle and Haymitch reaches over and grabs it from me before I can have more to drink than what is good for me.

“So now I guess we’re all alone” I say. “All three of us.” Swallowing hard I try to keep my voice steady as I continue. “I really messed things up, Haymitch. I never wanted to hurt Peeta again and somehow I managed to outdo myself in that regard. I ruined my friendship with Gale. I don’t know if either one of them will ever want to speak to me again and if they don’t I can’t blame them. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You just survived a rebellion, your sister had been killed, your mother more or less abandoned you... I sure as hell didn’t expect you to make smart decisions at that point so I don’t know why you thought you would. I think you’re dumb as a brick for rushing into a relationship with Gale if you didn’t know for sure that you wanted to be with him but I’ve seen people do a lot stupider things under less straining circumstances.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I hurt him, and Peeta” I point out. “I can’t ignore the accountability for my choices.”

“Katniss...” He sighs and throws the rest of the bread to the quacking geese. “You’ve grown so used to having your life run by the Capitol that you’ve forgotten how to live any other way.”

“I hope that’s not true” I say with an offended face.

“Peeta was the choice the Capitol made for you” says Haymitch. “Which was the worst thing that could have ever happened to him because it made it impossible for you to look at him as someone you could love. Even if you _did_ fall in love with him you would never allow yourself to acknowledge it because it would mean submission to President Snow. Whether you realize it or not it created a situation where your other suitor became your actual star-crossed lover; the choice you were never permitted to make. Which, when it comes to you, sweetheart, is like waving a red flag in front of a bull. I don’t know how much of his allure to you was founded in knowing that you weren’t allowed to love him but I feel pretty damn sure that once the regime had been overthrown and you were freed from the shackles of marriage to Peeta it drove you straight into Gale’s arms. If you had chosen Peeta you would have still been following Snow’s directions. If you had lived alone you would have denied yourself the chance to be with the man you were forbidden to love. Whether or not you _did_ love him was of secondary importance.”

I listen without a word and begin to feel sick to my stomach as the truth of his words becomes obvious to me. It’s so sick and twisted yet it all makes sense when he puts it like that. Did I ever make any decisions on my own? Did I ever do anything other than react to the circumstances other people dictated? Was I with Gale for my own sake or to prove a point, even if it was just to myself? Most importantly, where does all of this leave me now?

“I feel like I’m gonna throw up” I say.

“Yeah, alcohol will do that to you when you’re not used to it” grins Haymitch.

“You know what I mean.”

He nods slowly and takes a chug of his own bottle.

“This is your chance to forget about everyone’s expectations and focus on what _you_ want” he says. “Who _do_ you love? The answer doesn’t have to be Peeta or Gale, you know. It doesn’t have to be anybody. Be on your own if that’s what you prefer. Maybe you could even patch up that friendship with the boy once you know what you really want.”

“I thought you told me to avoid him” I say.

“You’re in a different place now. _He_ is in a different place now.”

“Thanks to Johanna Mason?” I ask, dreading the answer.

“Partially.”

He doesn’t elaborate and I’m too nervous to ask. I get up on my rather wobbly feet and thank him for the talk. He nods and gives me half a smile from underneath his sunhat. Slowly I walk down the steps of his porch and towards my own house, knowing that I have a lot to think about.

 

 

I follow Haymitch’s advice and spend the next couple of weeks trying to figure out what I want. It’s difficult at first because I keep trying to find an answer to the question by going over all options I can think of which leads me nowhere. Then I change methods and simply let myself feel everything that’s in my heart and mind and little by little I begin to listen to what those feelings are actually telling me.

I want to talk to Peeta and sort things out with him so that we can have a better relationship than neighbours who never see each other but I’m afraid to have such a conversation with him. I would have to open up and be vulnerable which terrifies me. He might not want to have anything at all to do with me anymore. He might have moved on, fallen in love with Johanna Mason or some girl I’ve never even noticed. I’m his ex-wife, the woman who hurt him over and over again. Why should he want anything at all to do with me anymore? It’s petrifying to think about opening up to him when I don’t know if I’ll get even the smallest offering of friendship in return.

After lunch on Midsummer’s Day I sit out on my back porch and enjoy the sight of the blooming flowers in my back yard. My mind has been on Peeta all morning and on how I will feel so much better once I’ve talked to him. I think of all the things I have done to hurt him and decide that maybe I owe it to him to open up and be vulnerable without knowing how he will respond. Just think of how many times he’s opened up to me and been hurt for his troubles.

Gathering all my courage I get up and walk through the house, stopping to glance at myself in the mirror. I look healthy but a little rattled. My hair is done up in a sloppy braid which I quickly undo, leaving it flowing down my back. It makes me look vulnerable but it feels appropriate. I’m about to tell a boy who used to love me and who might love me still that I’ve been really awful to him and I regret it every single day and I want to be in his life again. Vulnerable is just right.

The sun is shining bright outside when I leave the house. I know Peeta is home and not at the bakery because there’s smoke coming from his chimney. Hopefully he’s alone or I might chicken out. I take a deep breath before I walk up the steps of his front porch and knock on the door.

Ten seconds later he opens the door and when our eyes meet I get the strangest feeling. He looks surprised to see me but the smile that appears on his face makes me relax a little. I find myself staring at him, taking in his blue eyes, his ashen hair that’s still cut so short it doesn’t curl and the small beard he’s let grow on his chin. It’s a little darker than the hair on his head. Funny that I never knew that about him.

“Hey” he says. “I wasn’t expecting to see you. Do you want to come in? I just put something in the oven so I can’t really stay by the door...”

To my embarrassment I feel my cheeks reddening, wondering if he realized I was staring. I nod, not trusting my voice, and follow him inside. Being back in this house is a strange mix of comfortable and awkward. It still feels like home but it’s not my home anymore and I don’t know how to behave. When we reach the kitchen the most natural thing in the world to me would be to walk over and sit down by the table, then help myself to the cherries sitting in a blue glass bowl. Except I’m a guest now and I’m not sure where to sit or stand or what’s okay for me to do. Peeta walks over to the counter and throws a towel over a set of cupcakes he just took out of the oven. They smell delicious and it makes my mouth water.

“Have a seat” he says. Then he laughs. “It feels weird, saying that to you here.”

So I’m not the only one who finds this a touch awkward. I pull out a chair by the table and sit down. Peeta turns around but stays by the counter, giving me his friendly smile. He looks tanned, I notice. Usually he doesn’t because he spends so much time indoors with his baking. I wonder what he’s been up to that would lend him with a tan.

“So what can I do for you today?” he asks.

I open my mouth to tell him everything I’ve been thinking about these past weeks, well months really. I’ve gone over this speech in my head at least a dozen times, wishing I had his ability to find the right words to explain what I’m thinking and feeling. I want him to know how badly I feel about the way I’ve treated him, what he means to me as a friend, want to share with him the realization Haymitch brought me about why I ended up with Gale after the war and most of all I want him to know that I wish we had talked about this a long time ago. Instead something else comes out of my mouth, seemingly on its own volition.

“I miss you. I miss you so much.” There’s a slight shift in his face when I say it but he lets me continue which is lucky because if he interjected now I would probably never get this out and right now I feel like I might burst if I don’t get to say it. “I miss everything about you. I miss the way you laugh, I miss your smile, I miss the way you look at me. I miss running my hand over your cheek. I miss the way the sun catches in your hair. I miss seeing you when I wake up in the morning, your hair ruffled and that sleepy look on your face. I miss the way the house smells in the morning when you’re making breakfast and I miss the cheese buns and sitting opposite you at the breakfast table. I miss stupid things like showering with you and making the bed with you and walking to town with you. I miss the way it feels to see you again after spending all day apart. I miss talking with you while dinner is being prepared and I really miss your cooking and sharing a meal with you. I miss doing dishes with you and the way you obsessively clean the kitchen every evening. I miss sitting in front of the fireplace with you. I miss being able to talk to you about anything. I miss your jokes, even though I know I always say they’re terrible. I miss watching you paint or sketch. I could watch you sketching for hours... the concentrated look on your face, the way your hand seems to create magic on a blank sheet of paper. For the life of me I can never understand how it is you do that. I miss sitting there with you doing whatever while you read a book or sketch or just...” I pause to draw a shaky breath. “I just miss spending time with you. I miss getting ready for bed together with you, the way you gargle mouthwash and use my comb.”

“You hate that I gargle mouthwash” objects Peeta, which is a fair point since the sound of it always drove me nuts.

“I know” I say, laughing a little because I’m so nervous.

He leaves the counter and slowly walks closer to me. The way he looks at me is intense but I can’t tell if his reaction is positive or negative. I realize I’m standing now but I don’t remember actually getting up. He stops in front of me and since he’s not saying anything I keep talking, feeling an odd sense of relief getting all of this off my chest.

“I miss your voice. Whether it’s calming me from a nightmare or arguing with me or casually talking to me or moaning my name. I miss hearing your thoughts on things and the advice you would give. I miss the way you see through me and the way you understand me like nobody else can. I miss coming through this door and knowing that you’ll be here. I miss knowing that your embrace is here for me whenever I need it and that you support me no matter what. I miss being able to be there for you when you’re not feeling okay, even though I know I didn’t do so well with that during our last months together. I miss feeling the way you make me feel. I miss going to sleep next to you, in your arms, feeling your strength and your love protecting me during the night. I miss watching you sleep – did you even know I used to do that? I could watch you for hours. You looked so peaceful and it made me relax and feel like everything was alright. I miss hearing your heart beat beneath me while I rest my head on your chest. I miss the way you kiss. The taste of your mouth, your skin, your... I miss the way your fingers taste of cinnamon and sugar. I miss the way you smell and how you somehow make the sheets smell of you and the clothes and everything else around you. I miss it. All of it. The way your lips feel against mine, the way your hands feel, the way they touch. I miss being part of a team with you, _belonging_ with you. I miss the way you used to see me, so unlike the way anyone else ever did.” I feel a tear fall down my cheek. There’s so much more I want to say but I could stand here all day listing the things that I miss. “And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I hate myself for what I’ve done to you and how I’ve treated you and if you’ll only let me I want to try and make it up to you, no matter how long it takes. I’ve put you through so much misery and I never wanted to hurt you at all. Peeta... I miss you like hell.”

He looks unsure.

“What about Gale?”

I shake my head.

“I tried... but the entire time I was with him I just missed you. I don’t expect you to... I mean... I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, let alone your friendship, let alone anything more. I’m still selfish enough to want it though, if you could only...”

Peeta’s hands gently come up and rest on my cheeks. He looks deep into my eyes and I wonder if I told him how much I miss his beautiful blue eyes. He swallows, as if he’s nervous. I should probably say more because at the moment I’ve made it clear that I miss him but I haven’t really specified whether I miss him as a husband or just miss him in general. However he seems to understand what I’m still too emotionally shy to say.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “If you’re not... Katniss I can’t do that again.”

“It’s the only thing I am sure of” I whisper. “I want to come home.”

Then his lips are on mine and my knees almost buckle from the way his kiss makes me feel. Did it ever feel this good before? He seems to notice my reaction and his hands quickly leave my cheeks and land on my waist, stabilising me. My arms wrap around his neck and when his lips leave mine I press him closer and kiss him again. I can’t get enough. I need to be kissing him. I almost feel like I could faint. He kisses me gently, not urgently, and I think to myself that there couldn’t possibly be kisses lovelier than these. Light-years away from just lips against lips, tongue against tongue.

An unpleasant burning smell breaks through my mesmerized haze and Peeta’s lips quickly leave mine and he lets go of me.

“Shit!” he says and rushes over to the oven where the cupcakes have gotten a bit too baked. “Damn it.”

He grabs an oven mitt and a towel and removes the cupcakes, setting the baking tin down on the stove. He closes the oven and mutters something under his breath. It’s not a very fitting end to the way we were just kissing but I’m feeling so happy that I don’t mind at all. Instead I smile widely as I watch him handle his baking crisis.

“Cupcakes, huh?” I say just to say something.

“Yeah” says Peeta and gives me a look that tells me he’s embarrassed that he burned them. “I’m trying a new kind of frosting.”

“Oh yeah?” I say, walking over to him. I wrap my arms around him from behind and rest my chin on his shoulder. “Do tell.”

My touch makes him smile, his eyes looking at me like he can’t wrap his mind around what has happened since he went to answer the door, but when he talks about his baking he’s focused and serious.

“I’m basing it on a new ingredient. Remember what we had on our bread in the Capitol, the stuff Effie called cream cheese?” I nod and he reaches for a bowl. “I thought it might make a good component. They use it with carrot cake in the Capitol.”

He dips his finger in the bowl which is something he never, ever does unless he’s just experimenting and doesn’t plan on letting anyone other than himself or possibly me taste the results. His finger is coated with a thick layer of white creamy frosting and he holds it up to me to taste. I wrap my lips around it with the intention of sensually sucking on it until the frosting is gone but when I taste it I forget about sensuality and focus only on the lovely taste. His smile widens when he sees the look on my face.

“Peeta this is delicious!”

“Think it will go well with the cupcakes?”

“It will go amazing with the cupcakes.” My eyes go to the bowl. “Or on second thought, no. You should just let me eat it and get it out of sight.”

He laughs and turns around in my arms.

“Oh that’s what you think, huh?”

“It is” I grin, wrapping my arms around his neck.

He kisses me again and it’s like the room is spinning around me. Before I can get truly lost in the kiss he pulls away abruptly and looks thoughtful, smacking his lips.

“I don’t know, I think the frosting is decent.”

I let out a yelp and give him a playful smack on his shoulder blade. He grins at me and breaks free from my embrace. He still has another tin of unbaked cupcakes sitting on the kitchen island and he goes to get it. I watch in silence as he puts it in the oven, sets a timer and then turns to me.

“We have about seven minutes.”

A couple of witty retorts spring to mind but I don’t use any of them. I just walk into his arms and kiss him deeply, longingly, wishing that my kisses can tell him what I struggle to find the words to say. This is more than I dared to hope for. Peeta is mine. I can have him back. That must be what this is. When there are no expectations on me and no outside forces influencing my decisions he is my choice and for whatever reason he still chooses me. I am so tired of missing him and being in his arms in this moment I feel happy for the first time since Prim died. Not only that but I think that for the first time in a long time I’ve been able to make Peeta happy too.

The buzzer rings way too soon and I moan in complaint when Peeta’s lips and arms leave me.

“Duty calls” he says.

“Tell me that’s the last set” I say.

He chuckles and removes the cupcakes from the oven. I take this to mean that we’re done with the baking part of the program and can get back to the kissing but Peeta is now in baker mode and determines that the first set he baked has cooled enough to be coated in frosting. Maybe he just needs a moment to clear his head and process what is happening between us. He opens a drawer and gets out the equipment he needs and since I don’t know what else to do I take a seat by the kitchen island where the first set of cupcakes are waiting. Peeta stands next to me and gets to work. He frosts one cupcake and hands it to me.

“You’re my toughest critic” he says. Then he shrugs. “Actually Haymitch is but he never seems to like anything I bake unless he gets to dip it in white liquor.”

I take a bite from the cupcake and close my eyes, enjoying the taste more than anything else I’ve eaten in forever. It’s sweet yet tart in a lovely combination. Getting to enjoy freshly baked pastries on a regular basis is another item on the list of things I’ve missed about Peeta. When my eyes open he is looking at me expectantly and I nod with a smile.

“You were right. This is superb.”

“Great” he grins. He picks up a small bottle and unscrews the cork.

“Making an alcoholic variant for Haymitch?” I ask.

“No” he chuckles. “It’s just that they look rather dull when both the cupcake and the frosting are white.” He adds some drops from the bottle to the frosting and swirls with his spoon. The white frosting turns into a warm green shade. “They say green is soothing.”

I can’t help but laugh. He gets to work coating the other cupcakes in frosting and even though I can’t wait to have his lips back on mine, his arms all over me and his eyes looking into mine I find myself enjoying watching him work. It brings to mind memories of an everyday life with him. He looks so handsome when his face is focused on the task at hand and right now just being near him and knowing that I am allowed to stay makes me happier than I can put to words.

“These are not for sale, right?” I say when he’s finished with the first set. Without waiting for his answer I grab the bowl from his hands and scoop up more frosting with my finger.

“No” he answers. “They’re more for practice. I’ll save a handful, bring one set to Mike who works for me at the bakery and probably take the rest over to Haymitch. I’m making dinner for him tonight.”

My face falls a little and I feel disappointed. I want Peeta all to myself tonight. I stay silent while he frosts the remaining cupcakes, except the burned ones which he throws in the trash. When he’s done he rinses his hands under the faucet, wipes them dry on his apron before hanging it up on its hook and then walks over to me. He sits down opposite me and rests his hands on the kitchen island which makes me reach out my hands and place them over his.

“So” he says.

“So” I reply.

“What you said earlier was... lovely.” He smiles a little. “I want you to talk to me some more. Tell me what’s been on your mind. What brought you back here? I know it wasn’t as easy as just missing me. You were with Gale and now you’re here in my kitchen with frosting on your lip.”

My tongue darts out and licks up the frosting while I think of what to say. I still want to tell him how Haymitch made me realize that choosing Gale actually wasn’t a choice at all but I decide against it. Instead I tell him how I’ve been thinking about him ever since we got back to Twelve and how often I’ve wanted to come over and see him. I also tell him why I didn’t and he nods in understanding. I wish I had the ability to put to words what an aching emptiness he left behind when he ceased to be my husband but I just keep coming back to telling him how much I’ve missed him. Soon I’m betting he’s tired of hearing the word “miss” but he keeps his kind eyes on me and stays silent while I talk. When I pause and can’t seem to find the words to continue he speaks gently.

“Tell me what you want from me.”

“I want you to be with me again” I say without hesitation. “I don’t deserve that and I didn’t think I stood a chance but then you kissed me and...” I can’t help the smile that appears on my face. “I want to see what we can be to each other when there are no outside forces choosing our paths for us. I want you to forgive me and take care of me and let me take care of you. I want you to make the nightmares go away.”

“I can’t do that” says Peeta. “I’ve never been able to chase your bad dreams away.”

“Yes you have. Maybe you can’t stop them from coming but when I wake up in the dead of night you are the only person who can make the images leave my mind.”

The corner of his mouth turns upward.

“I can at least try.” He looks down at our hands and then glances at the clock on the wall. “I need to leave soon. I promised Haymitch.” He looks at me and for a second I hope he’s going to say he’s blowing off Haymitch even though I know our mentor probably looks forward to his visit. “Come with me” he says instead.

“No” I say. “No, you go alone.”

“I will probably just be a couple of hours. Maybe... Maybe I can see you later?”

“Yeah...” I say.

He gets on his feet and walks around the kitchen island, his hand coming up to gently caress my cheek. Then he leans in and kisses me again.

“Can’t wait” he mumbles against my lips.

 

 

I decide to go out hunting to pass the time. I bring some food with me and end up sitting perched in a tree, chewing cold stew and pretending to myself that I’m keeping an eye on any game that might pass me by. The truth is a deer could walk by me today and I wouldn’t react in time to get my bow out and shoot it. There’s a smile on my face and a warm feeling in my chest. My fingers keep going up to my mouth, gently brushing the lips that were so recently pressed against Peeta’s. I long to see him again even though it’s only been about an hour since I left his house.

Eventually I decide I’ve been out here long enough and I climb down the tree and head for home. It’s around seven o’clock but the sun is still up and it lights my way as I walk through the forest. Instead of going through the gate I crawl under my old spot on the fence and walk across the grass. My eyes go to Peeta’s house as soon as it comes into view and when I see him sitting out on the back porch the smile on my face grows wider.

“Any luck?” he asks when I approach him.

“Not in the woods” I say, walking up the three steps that connect the porch to the lawn. “How was old Haymitch?”

“Flammable. I didn’t dare to light a fire. He enjoyed the cupcakes, though.”

I set my empty game bag down on the floor and Peeta motions for me to come and join him on the bench. It’s got comfortable yellow cushions that I remember well and I sit down beside him, instinctively leaning in against him and putting my feet up beside me. He wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close, kissing my brow. His hand finds mine and he rubs his thumb over the back of my hand as we watch the sun setting.

“Did you tell Haymitch anything?” I ask. “About what happened with us today?”

“No” answers Peeta. “It didn’t seem like the right time. I’d rather we figure out what is going on here between us before we go around telling people we’re back together.”

I nod and nuzzle closer. We sit like that for a while and the silence is comfortable and calming. His presence is enough for me to feel content and he appears to feel the same about mine. In this moment it doesn’t seem to matter much what we will be tomorrow. I look up at him and place a kiss on his bearded chin.

“What made you decide to grow a beard?”

“You dislike it?”

“No... It’s different.”

“I guess it was my own way of liberating myself” he says after a moment. “During the Games and anytime thereafter when there would be a camera on my face they expected me to be clean shaven. My mother always hated when me or my brothers didn’t shave in the morning. It’s something I was used to doing but never for my own sake, you know?”

“So you’re keeping it?”

He shrugs.

“Maybe not. If I shave it off it will be because I choose to. You understand what I mean?”

I nod, a smile playing on my lips. Peeta places a kiss on the top of my head and sighs contently. If the events of the day have been surprising and overwhelming to me they must be ten times that for him. I hope he’s feeling at least a little bit of the happiness that is filling me because if he does then I know I’ve made him very happy today.

“I’m sorry about before” he says, breaking the silence. “I wasn’t... exactly romantic earlier today. I should have been after the wonderful things you said. I was just so perplexed, you know? This is more than I dared to...” He trails off and laughs a little. “I stopped hoping a long time ago. Suddenly hearing you say things I never dared to dream you would made me a little uncomfortable, believe it or not. Like it was too good to be true, you know?”

“I understand. I wasn’t sure at all that you would want to hear me say those things anymore. For all I knew you had someone new. I mean I’ve seen you with Johanna...”

“Johanna Mason?” asks Peeta with entertained disbelief. “You didn’t think I had something going on with her, did you?”

“I hoped that you didn’t.”

“She’s a good friend of mine. After what we went through together I guess that’s inevitable. I always did like her, actually, but no, I’m not in love with her and I never will be. She would probably eat me alive, literally. Like a spider after mating.”

“She was here a few months ago” I say. “I saw her but...”

“I called and asked her to come. I needed to see her – talk to somebody who had been through the same thing as me, you know? She was here for about two weeks. She didn’t want to visit you and I didn’t insist. You’ll have to forgive her, she’s... protective of those she cares about.”

“She thought I wronged you.”

“She knew my heart was broken and while it wasn’t your fault she...” He trails off again and glances down at me. “I never asked Johanna or Haymitch to side with me after the divorce. The way I saw it there were no sides to take. I think they felt I had no one but you had Gale so I needed their support more, which honestly was degrading.”

“It’s okay Peeta” I say. “Haymitch is Haymitch and Johanna was closer to you to begin with.”

“They probably saw that I wasn’t doing so good even though I pretended as much as I could that I was fine.”

I lift my head and look at him. His eyes are on the setting sun which paints the sky in pink and his favourite colour, orange. When his eyes go to me the dusky light has made them look dark blue. I reach up my hand and gently caress his cheek.

“You have no idea how bad I felt” I say in a whisper. “I didn’t want you to be in pain.”

“Don’t apologize. It was something I had to go through.”

“I do need to apologize and you did not _have_ to go through it. _I_ put you through it. If you had slammed the door in my face today I wouldn’t have blamed you. In fact I don’t really understand how come you didn’t.”

“What good would that have done?” he asks. “I still want you so why turn you away? I mean, I was definitely hoping against all logic that when I came back from Seven you would be in this house and tell me you had chosen me but I wasn’t realistically _expecting_ it. I thought you were in love with Gale. It surprised me how fast you two became romantically involved but I’m not going to judge. I wanted you to have the freedom to make your own choices.”

“I made truly horrible ones” I say. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you never regret the choice you made today.”

“I find it unlikely that I would so don’t worry about it.” A small smile appears on his face. “You can’t understand how much _I_ missed _you_. I should have told you earlier today but I was afraid that if I said the wrong thing, sounded too eager, you would withdraw just like you used to do whenever I mentioned my feelings for you.”

Shame burns inside me and I wonder if anything could ever make up for all the pain he has suffered because of me.

“I’m sorry” I say in a voice so low it’s barely audible.

“Don’t be” he answers softly. “You can’t help what you feel. Besides, I don’t mind a single moment of my life that led to this moment right now. If you are really back and you want me that’s all that matters to me.”

“I’m back” I say. “If you’ll have me.”

He answers with a tender kiss.

 

 

We sit out on the porch until the sun has gone down and the air begins to feel cool. Eventually Peeta takes me by the hand and asks if I want to stay the night, a question I answer with a bright smile. When he leads the way up the stairs I feel excitement and anticipation building inside of me. I can’t wait to be in bed, feeling Peeta’s body again. If the kisses make me feel like the whole world is spinning I can only imagine what his intimate touches will make me feel.

When it dawns on me that Peeta doesn’t plan on having sex tonight I feel terribly disappointed, even after he kisses me and explains that he feels we shouldn’t rush into anything like that. For him it’s enough just to sleep next to me and hold me in his arms. I try to swallow my disappointment but it’s hard to quench the desire I feel for him. We crawl underneath the covers, me wearing one of Peeta’s t-shirts in lieu of proper bed clothes, and settle in together as if we’ve never spent a single night apart. It’s almost hard to believe it could be this simple now given how complicated everything was between us after Snow’s government fell but I am determined not to think too much about it. If there’s a chance for me to be happy and for Peeta to finally have some happiness too then I’m going to take it. I curl into him and his arms wrap around me and we both let out a content sigh at the same time, which in turn makes us laugh.

“I’m so glad that you’re here” says Peeta, kissing the top of my head.

“I’m so relieved I don’t have to miss you tonight” I answer.

He gives me a little squeeze and I close my eyes to go to rest. How strange it is to find peace and tranquillity again after everything we’ve been through. My thoughts go to the promise I made to myself before our wedding and how I failed spectacularly at making Peeta happy. Now I get a second chance and I will not fail him this time.

 

 

I thought I would sleep like a baby in Peeta’s embrace tonight but instead a nightmare haunts me. I dream that Peeta finds out about the baby and that the eyes that have always looked at me with so much love now turn dark with hatred. I hear him voice every accusation I’ve ever directed at myself, call me a hundred bad words, tell me that he hates me deeply and never wants to see me again. In the middle of all of this there’s the baby, still an infant at first but then a three year-old trapped in the arena and somehow it is my fault which Peeta rages against me for.

I wake up with a scream, panting and sweating and startling Peeta who sits up and pulls me close to him, soothing me the same way he used to do. For a few minutes I’m still so engrossed in the images from the nightmare that not a single word he says actually reaches me but once my mind begins to clear I’m filled with self-loathing and a strong desire to get away from him. The baby has always been the one thing Peeta can’t help me feel better about, in fact he has quite the opposite effect. It takes a lot of self control to stay where I am and not shrug his arms off but I know in my heart that if I turn away from him now he might get the wrong impression and I might lose him for good.

Trembling from the effects of the nightmare I turn my head and look at him. His face is calm and soothing, those blue eyes looking at me in a way that under any other circumstances would convince me that nothing bad could ever happen to me as long as he is nearby. I close my eyes and rest my forehead against his as I begin to understand what the real essence of the dream was about. It wasn’t actually about my child this time. It was about losing Peeta.

“Don’t go away” I whisper with a trembling voice. “Please don’t ever make me have to miss you again.”

“Nothing can make me leave you now” he answers.

Eventually he is able to calm me down through soothing words, tender kisses and gentle touches. The more it sinks in that he’s really there and I’m really back in our bed in our house the more at ease I feel. I vaguely remember Peeta telling me once that his nightmares tend to be about losing me and that he’s okay once he realizes I’m there. It’s not quite the same for me. I believe him when he says that nothing can tear him from my side from this day on but I know in my heart that if he were to find out about his child he might be unable to forgive. The worst thing that could happen to me now is him finding out the truth but even the best case scenario means that I have to lie to the person I need the most, who trusts me implicitly, for the rest of our lives.

After a while I fall back asleep but my dreams are unpleasant even if they’re not outright nightmares. I must wake up a dozen times during the remaining hours of the night but at least I don’t scream or thrash so Peeta sleeps through the rest of the night, his strong arm wrapped around my waist and his face nuzzled by my neck.

When morning comes I am woken up by a soft kiss. My eyes open and look into Peeta’s and the horrors of the night seem to wash off of me in favour of the happiness that comes with waking up with Peeta again and having a whole day to spend with him. I don’t even notice at first that he’s out of bed and dressed already.

“I wanted to let you sleep but I couldn’t go to work without letting you know I’m heading out” he says.

“What?” I say, lifting myself up on an elbow.

“I need to get to the bakery.”

“Do you?” I complain, feeling so disappointed that I’m probably pouting. “I was looking forward to having breakfast with you and then spending all day together.”

“That sounds lovely” smiles Peeta. “We’ll do that on Sunday, okay? I can’t play hooky on a regular week day, at least not without telling Mike about it beforehand.” He places a kiss on my forehead and straightens his back. “I’m sorry but I completely forgot to prepare dough last night so there’s no fresh bread. I took a few loaves out from the freezer. Haymitch is not going to be pleased. Help yourself to whatever you want from the kitchen.” He looks at me fondly. “I don’t know if you plan on going hunting today but whatever you end up doing I hope you’ll come back here by the afternoon. I’m already longing to come home and finding you here.”

“Just like old times” I say. “Except you baked at home.”

“Can’t run a bakery from this house” he says. “Go back to sleep for now.” He walks towards the door and I roll over on my back so that I can watch him as he leaves. In the doorway he stops and turns his head to look at me. “Katniss. I don’t have words to tell you how amazing it is to have you here. I still can’t believe it’s for real.”

“Believe it” I say. “It’s real.”

 

 

That afternoon I return to the house before Peeta comes home from the bakery and I hurry up the stairs with a bag I picked up from the other house. I leave it in the bathroom and then go back down the stairs to get started on cleaning the fish I caught earlier. I’m almost done when I hear the front door open and a smile spreads across my face. A minute later Peeta appears in the doorway and we look at each other with goofy grins on our faces for a moment before he walks over and gives me a kiss that feels just as good as the ones yesterday.

“What’s for dinner?” he asks.

“Nothing edible if you leave the cooking to me.”

“Then I had better take over. I’m just going to run upstairs and shower and change.”

I pull him close for another kiss before he hurries off. When he comes back down the stairs a short while later his wet hair and beard are glistening and he no longer smells like sweat and bread. I wrap my arms around him and kiss him slowly and sensually, the feeling of his mouth to mine so overwhelming that I completely forget that I’m starving.

The magic is broken when my stomach growls loudly and Peeta laughs into my mouth. He pulls away, moves a strain of hair from my face and tells me to take a seat while he cooks dinner. Then he picks up the satchel he had flung over his shoulder when he came into the room and produces a cookie decorated with a katniss flower.

“Something to tidy you over until dinner’s ready” he says.

“Are these your big sellers?” I ask teasingly, studying the cookie. It’s almost too beautiful to eat.

“No. Just my mushy attempt at making you think I’m endearing.”

“Hmm” I say. “It might just work.”

“Oh, I asked Mike to keep things running for a few days. I thought about it and we should take a day or two to figure out what this is between us and how we want things to be. I have to stop by for a few hours tomorrow but I can do it after lunch. If you promise not to stick your fingers in any bowls of cake batter you can even come along.”

He prepares dinner while I eat my cookie and we engage in small talk about our respective days. I set the table and we sit down to eat, every moment feeling relaxed and comfortable even though there’s an odd feeling in my stomach that gets more intense when I look at Peeta. It’s not a bad feeling; it’s like a pleasant kind of nervousness. Together we clear the table and do the dishes and when the kitchen is clean Peeta asks if he can draw me.

I take a seat in one of the bay windows and Peeta sits opposite me with a sketchpad in his hands. I lean back against the wall and watch him work. His face is focused, his eyes darting back and forth between me and the pad while his fingers do their magic with the pencil. I find myself thoroughly enjoying just watching him work. He is so beautiful to me when he’s concentrating like this, blind to everything around him but what he is creating on paper. The light from the setting sun shines in through the window and illuminates him in a way that makes him look young and almost delicate. I assume the light does the same for me when he looks up at me with a displeased expression and says that he wishes he had gone for colours and not black-and-white.

“Can I see?” I ask when he finally pauses and blows on the paper to remove the bits of charcoal that have stuck.

“Not my best work” he says. “I’m a little distracted.”

He didn’t seem distracted to me but I take it as a compliment. I move over to sit with him and he wraps an arm around me and lets me look at the sketch. It’s beyond my understanding how he can sketch me sitting opposite him with my knees pulled up and get scale and depth down so perfectly. He’s right that it’s not the best thing I’ve seen him draw but something about it still speaks to me. I look almost angelic, bathed in the light that shines in through the window.

“I love you” he says and I take my eyes off the sketch to look at him. “I always have.” I kiss him lovingly and when our lips part he looks at me like he’s not sure I’m real. “I never thought I stood an actual chance at being loved by you.”

“I choose you” I tell him and kiss him again.

 

The following night I lock myself in the bathroom and pick up the small bag I brought over. I reach inside and fish out the lingerie that the Capitol meant for me to wear on my wedding night. I kept it but never used it because the thought of wearing it made me uncomfortable. Now I feel different. In fact it seems like the perfect garment to wear tonight. The last time Peeta saw me in lingerie must have been a few months before the last Hunger Games which means more than two years ago. I rarely wore sexy underwear during our marriage because it always felt a bit forced to me but tonight I want to do something special for him.

When I open the door to the bedroom I find him shutting the blinds and opening a window. The bedspread has been removed and he’s pulled down the comforter a bit. I smile seductively and say his name. When he turns around and sees me his jaw falls a little but his eyes darken with lust and it makes me feel very sexy. Slowly I walk over to him and stop a few feet away, letting his eyes slowly trail over my body. I don’t think he had intended for us to have sex so soon but it’s clear that he won’t be difficult to persuade.

“Have I seen you in this before?” he manages to get out.

I shake my head no and close the gap between us, resting my hands on his shoulders.

“If you don’t like it feel free to take it off” I say seductively.

Then his mouth is on mine and his hands begin to touch me, making my skin feel like it’s burning and tingling. The hunger that I haven’t felt for so long is back, stronger than ever, and I feel like I might die if I don’t get to make love to him tonight. The way he touches me is so familiar and so arousing, making me feel like I’ve come home and come to heaven all at the same time. Through joint efforts we get him out of his clothes and then he takes a step back and looks at me like I’m a goddess who just stepped out of an ancient painting. My eyes take in his body in return and I hear him chuckle when I smile at the sight of his arousal.

I lay down on the bed and Peeta gets up with me, taking a long time to get me out of the lingerie as he kisses me and touches me. His kisses are soft and loving, his touch hungry and tender and the many pauses he takes to just look at me make me both frustrated and even more aroused. When I’m finally naked I pull him over me and can’t stop myself from giving a low cry of pleasure when he thrusts into me.

“Did you miss this?” he breathes teasingly in my ear.

“Oh yes” I moan, too consumed by pleasure and emotion to give a teasing reply.

Together we move in a rhythm we perfected years ago, kisses and caresses and loving gazes amplifying the experience. Now I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that whether or not you feel the hunger depends on who you’re with and that nobody other than Peeta can bring this feeling out in me. It’s not about touch or technique or style, at least not exclusively so. I realize that it’s love and for the first time it doesn’t scare me. In fact it just makes everything more wonderful. I’m pretty sure Peeta could do just about anything to me right now and I would gasp in pleasure because it would be him touching me.

The combination of finally knowing what I want, being back with Peeta again, making him happy and finally reaching complete sexual satisfaction makes me lose control and actually cry out loudly when it’s at its best. I’ve never done that before and it seems to startle Peeta a bit but he quickly regains momentum and groans my name a minute later while his whole body seems to shudder. When he collapses on top of me he is completely spent and I’m so overcome with love for him that I hold him even closer, wishing he was always as near me as he is right now, his heart pounding in sync with my own. I open my mouth to tell him how I feel but the words won’t seem to come. I settle for kissing his brow which makes him lift his head and bring his lips to mine for a wet kiss.

“Hi” I say, smiling stupidly.

“Hey” he pants.

“See?” I say through my laboured breathing. “I told you sex would eventually be good.”

He laughs and kisses me again. He rests his head against my collarbone and nods off for a few minutes with my hand caressing his head. When he comes to he moves off me and pulls me close so we’re lying side by side, face to face, chest to chest.

“Are you happy?” Peeta asks me.

“More than I can say” I whisper. “Are you happy?”

“Over the moon.” He grabs my hand and caresses it. “So you’ve been my fake girlfriend... my fiancée... my wife... then my ex-wife. What are you now?”

“Yours.”

When my breathing slows down to normal I begin to tell him about the way I’ve been feeling ever since I got back to Twelve. I tell him about the aching longing for him, how the other house still doesn’t feel like a home, how alone I felt when Johanna was here and nobody told me. I even tell him how I couldn’t entirely adjust to being Gale’s girlfriend and how there was always something missing and I tell him about when Gale left and how the worst part was that I felt relieved. The only thing I don’t tell him is that I love him, that I’m _in_ love with him. That part is still somehow challenging to put to words, as if the emotions are too big for my voice to handle.

He listens without commenting and when I’m done he tells me how he struggled every day to accept that I didn’t love him and would never come back to him. He’s been lonely too with only Haymitch and occasionally Johanna to keep him company now that his family and almost all his friends are dead. He tells me how much he wanted to be happy for me and how he hated himself for being jealous of me and Gale. Just when he’s got me feeling so guilty it makes my heart hurt he smiles and says something that takes a lot of that guilt away.

“In hindsight I’m glad you were with him. At least now you know what you feel for him and whether or not you work together. You don’t have to spend the rest of your life wondering what could have been between you and I don’t have to worry that you’re thinking about him.”

“Yeah but I should have figured that out after a few weeks. The whole time I was with him I was thinking of you” I say. “Even when I didn’t realize it. I was always comparing him to you and he always came up short. It wasn’t fair to him.” I can’t help the sigh that slips out of me. “I’ve probably ruined our friendship for good.”

“Give him some time, then talk to him” suggests Peeta.

“You’d be okay with that?” I ask.

“You saving your friendship with Gale? Yeah. I need to trust you or what are we even doing?”

I lean closer and kiss him.

“Let’s not talk about it anymore tonight. Let’s just be happy that we’re together again.”

“Just so you know, I’m not going to let you go so easily this time.”

“I hope that’s a promise, not a threat.”

He places a kiss on my nose and I close my eyes to go to sleep, feeling safe and comfortable in his embrace. I have no nightmares that night and don’t wake up until Peeta’s arms leave me as he moves to get out of bed.

“Hey” I say sternly, opening my eyes. “Who gave you permission to leave?”

“I’ll just be downstairs getting breakfast ready” he says with a smile.

“Cheese buns?” I ask hopefully.

“What else would I bake for you in the morning?”

He leans down and kisses me, then tells me to stay put because he wants to come back up the stairs with a breakfast tray and find me just like this. My smile widens but then there’s a large banging sound from downstairs followed by Haymitch bellowing Peeta’s name.

“I’m late” cringes Peeta. “I usually have bread for him by six and it’s almost eight o’clock.”

“Who knew Haymitch could tell time?” I say dryly.

“I’ll go down and send him home.”

He hurries down the stairs and I hear Haymitch’s voice gruffly saying something followed by Peeta’s voice answering. I lay there for a few minutes until I hear a door slamming and everything goes quiet. There’s no smell of baking bread yet and I can only assume it will be a while before Peeta comes back upstairs. I fling the comforter to the side and get out of bed, looking around the floor for clothes to wear in case Haymitch comes back. In the bathroom I find the pants and shirt I wore yesterday and I put them on before I run a brush through my hair and hurry down the stairs. The smell of the baking bread has begun to fill the house and Peeta is busy getting cheese, butter and ham from the refrigerator.

“I didn’t feel like waiting any longer” I explain when he sees me.

“Breakfast is almost ready” he replies and opens the oven to take out the bread. “I have to run over to Haymitch with his bread and then I’ll be back.”

“Does he know I’m here?”

“I didn’t tell him. Not that I got two words in. He was pretty annoyed that I hadn’t shown up already. He likes to eat his bread and then go to sleep.”

He picks up two steaming hot loaves of bread and tosses them into a small basket which he covers with a kitchen towel. Then he leaves and I finish preparing for breakfast. I find coco and sugar in a kitchen cabinet and decide to make us hot chocolate. When he comes back we sit down together just like we used to when we were married and he smiles when I put the cup of steaming hot chocolate in front of him.

“So what do you want to do today?” he asks and butters a slice of bread.

“Nothing in particular” I answer, taking a bite from a roll. “Actually, wait. I would like to go over to the other house and get some stuff. Clothes, mostly.” I feel myself blushing as I realize what I just insinuated. “That is, I mean, if you’re okay with me staying for a few nights.”

“Don’t do it on my account” answers Peeta and my heart sinks for a moment before he continues. “I won’t mind it if you walk around naked.”

I stick out my tongue at him and then blow him a kiss. He laughs and takes a bite from his roll. Once we’ve eaten breakfast we head over to my old house and I lead Peeta up the stairs to my bedroom. He finds a small suitcase in the closet and helps me pack enough clothes to last me for about a week. I see him giving the bed an uncomfortable look and it almost makes me roll my eyes. What is it with men and looking uncomfortably at a bed where the girl they like has had sex with somebody else? It’s just a bed, no matter what has taken place between its sheets.

“Anything else you want to bring?” asks Peeta.

“Not today” I answer. On an impulse I grab him by the collar of his shirt and give him a hard kiss, moving him backwards towards the bed. “Though there’s one thing I want to do before we go.”

He’s too startled to reply but once I’ve got him sitting at the foot of the bed and my hands are working on his shirt buttons he’s caught up and begins to caress me through my clothes. It doesn’t take long for us to get naked and then he leans back on his hands and keeps his eyes fixated on me as I take control and passionately ride him until we’ve both reached our peaks. When it’s over I smile at him. Now he is the last person I had sex with on this bed and the only person I can imagine sleeping with here at any point in the future.

“How about a walk?” I suggest when my breathing has returned to normal.

He can’t contain his laughter.

“Anything you say, Miss Everdeen.”

 

 

“So the star-crossed lovers are back to being bed mates” notes Haymitch dryly.

We’re standing in his kitchen. It’s late afternoon and he’s just woken up, looking like he could really use a shave and a shower. His clothes are wrinkly, probably because he slept in them, and there’s a big stain of what I think is vomit down his left side. The whole place smells like it usually does though Peeta opened a window in a futile attempt at getting some fresh air in. Through the window I can hear birds chirping but the sound seems strange inside this house.

We decided it was time to tell him that we’re back together and I’m finding it annoyingly nerve-wrecking. Haymitch had nothing positive to say about my treatment of Peeta last year and he seemed sure that I have no romantic feelings for my former husband. He’s protective of Peeta and if he thinks I’m using him or that I’m not sure of how I feel he’s not going to be very positive to our reunion.

“Not just bed mates” says Peeta calmly. “We’re together again.” He casts a look at me. “Katniss came home.”

Our old mentor’s bloodshot eyes go to me.

“You decided you actually had the warm and fuzzy feelings for the boy, after all?” he slurs. “You chose the boy?”

I frown and cross my arms over my chest, feeling defensive and ready to go on the offense if he questions my devotion to Peeta.

“Yes, I choose the boy.”

His eyes go from me to Peeta a couple of times. Then he grins.

“Well good for you, then. Peeta can stop moping and Katniss can stop looking like she has a big stick up her ass. The two of you might just be able to make each other marginally less miserable than your average victor.”

“You’re such a romantic” replies Peeta dryly. “It’s a shame you didn’t speak at our wedding.”

“In all seriousness” says Haymitch, raising his bottle in the air. “If this is what you want then I hope you will be happy together.” His eyes turn to me. “As long as you’re both sure.”

“We are” I assure him. “We both are.”

I slip my hand into Peeta’s but he only gives it a quick squeeze before letting go and walking up to Haymitch, taking the bottle from him just as he’s about to take a swig.

“You smell like a pigsty” says Peeta. “Come over to our place and have dinner but for God’s sake take a shower first.”

“I happen to like smelling like a pigsty” claims Haymitch. “It beats smelling like lavender the way you do when you shower with her.”

Peeta rolls his eyes and grabs Haymitch by the arm, pulling him up to standing. They bicker a bit as the younger man leads the older to the staircase and then gives his back a shove. Haymitch disappears up the stairs and Peeta turns to me.

“You said you shot some pheasants in the woods today?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s go, then. I can hear your stomach growling from here. We should make a proper dinner for old Haymitch while he’s sober enough to eat it.”

He kisses me on the cheek and together we head out into the fresh air outside. I take Peeta by the arm as we walk the short distance to his house, _our_ house. It’s Sunday and tomorrow he has to go back to the bakery. I miss him already, wishing that he didn’t have a business to run and that things could be the way they used to be. He used to be home during the days, painting and baking and whatever else he liked to do. It gave us the luxury of spending all day in bed when we wanted to and it meant that he was almost always there when I came home from the woods. Now that I’m with him again I find the idea of being out in the forest by myself all day and then coming home to an empty house very lonely.

We walk in through the kitchen door and Peeta runs up the stairs to change his clothes. He doesn’t like preparing anything edible when his clothes reek of the kind of odours that are just everywhere in Haymitch’s house. While he changes I begin to pluck the two pheasants, wondering to myself if I should keep the feathers or sell them at the market. We don’t strictly speaking need them for anything right now but perhaps we should make a new pillow for Haymitch.

“Alright” says Peeta when he comes back down the stairs. He raises an eyebrow at my progress with the birds. “I thought we had a house rule that you would only pluck birds outdoors.”

“I don’t officially live here” I reply cheekily. “I’m not sure _we_ have house rules.”

“If you’re going to be naughty I’m going to have to find suitable punishment for you” he murmurs in my ear, sending a chill of excitement down my spine.

He opens a kitchen cabinet and takes out flour. I watch from the corner of my eye how he begins to prepare something in a bowl and my suspicion rises. When he takes out a glass pie tin and butters it I set the last pheasant down and frown.

“Peeta” I complain. “I’m starving and you’re making dessert?”

“Have a little faith, my dear” says Peeta good-naturedly and covers the tin in dough. “If you’re that hungry you should move faster with those birds.”

I raise an eyebrow at him but the grin he flashes me makes it nearly impossible to be annoyed with him. He hums cheerfully to himself while he pokes the dough with a fork several times and then puts the pie tin in the already heated oven. When he’s done he wraps his arms around me from behind and places a trail of kisses from my shoulder up to my ear.

“You shouldn’t do that when I have a knife in my hand” I say, feeling weak at the knees. “I almost chopped my finger off.”

“You should be more careful” he murmurs in my ear and runs his fingertips up and down my arm. “I want you in one piece.”

“If you’re going to stand here then _you_ can’t be naughty” I shoot back, trying my best to sound affirmative and not like a hot and bothered woman who would very much like to forget about dinner and just have sex instead.

Obediently he ceases with the kisses and gentle touches but he keeps standing there with his arms around me while I work on the birds. After about ten minutes he lets go of me and takes the pie crust out of the oven, setting it down on the stove.

“Now, then” he says. “Let’s get to work on dinner.”

He quickly chops an onion and fries it up in a frying pan together with some garlic. He takes the pheasant meat I’ve separated from the bones and tosses it in the pan. Following his instructions I concentrate on the meat frying in the pan and once I deem it ready I use a wooden spoon to shove it down into a bowl where Peeta has put a concoction of some sort which I know includes eggs but other than that I have no idea. He pours it all into the pie crust.

“Pie for dinner?” I question.

“Don’t you remember having it in the Capitol?” he asks, sounding surprised.

“No” I admit. “I thought all the pies there were desserts.”

He chuckles.

“Then you missed out on something. Set the table, will you? This will be done in about fifteen minutes and Haymitch should be here soon.”

Soon the lovely scent of the pie fills the room and I feel my mouth watering. I set the table while Peeta chops some vegetables for a salad. As soon as he’s done and all vegetables are in a bowl on the table I wrap my arms around his waist and kiss him. His arms wrap around my waist in return and he deepens the kiss. Our bodies press together and I wish again that we were alone tonight. Neither one of us hears Haymitch coming in but his loud hark catches our attention and to Peeta’s amusement and my embarrassment he looks quite sick at the sight of us.

“I’m supposed to have dinner” complains Haymitch. He burps and makes a face. “You’re making me lose my appetite.”

“Peeta’s made pie” I say.

“Good for him. Where’s the liquor? I think I’m going to need it if I am to suffer through dinner with you two actually _in love_.”

Peeta just chuckles and tells Haymitch to sit. I’ve actually bought wine in town earlier today and I bring the bottle to the table, telling Haymitch he gets two glasses at the most. He snorts that nobody could get drunk on the glorified tap water I’ve bought anyway but I just smile at him. I open the bottle and pour the liquid into our three glasses, setting the bottle down by the sink so that it’s not easily accessible to Haymitch.

The pie tastes wonderful. Even Haymitch praises it. We stay at the table for almost two hours after the meal is over and Peeta sets out three cupcakes that he frosted this morning. These ones have purple frosting and I don’t know if I’m imagining it or not but the frosting seems to taste a bit like blackberries.

Eventually Haymitch excuses himself to go to the bathroom and Peeta and I are left alone for a few minutes. I take his hand in mine and sigh contently. To my surprise tears well up which makes Peeta concerned.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“I’m fine” I say, wiping away the one tear that falls down my cheek. “I’m perfect. I don’t know what came over me.” He looks so concerned that I can’t help but laugh a little. “I’m just happy, Peeta. Having dinner with you and Haymitch again... It feels like I’m back with my family, you know?”

“You are” says Peeta. “We both love you, you know.”

“I’ve missed evenings like this.”

He leans in and kisses me softly.

“Let’s make it a weekly thing, then. You, me and Haymitch.”

“Like in the old days.”

“It will be good for him – he’ll have to shower at least once a week.”

The comment makes me laugh and helps me pull myself together. I’m a lot more composed when Haymitch comes back and wonders if we’re serving coffee or if he’ll have to do without such luxuries in this household.

Later that evening Haymitch goes home and Peeta and I head upstairs. We make love and it’s slow and sensual and amazing. I know this bliss I’m feeling can’t last; sooner or later the harsh details of my life will come back to disturb me and at some point the novelty of being back with Peeta, _in love_ with Peeta, will fade into something different, something more permanent but probably less intense. There will probably be some fallout from the past few years and how I’ve failed to cherish him the way I ought to and the pain I live with from having to give up my baby and losing my sister will come back to haunt me but for the moment we’re in a happy just-got-back-together bubble. With all this in mind I plan on enjoying this phase every single moment it lasts. After all the losses I’ve suffered I find myself feeling invincible, like nothing bad can happen as long as Peeta is with me and that there’s nothing we can’t overcome together. Maybe there is a chance for true happiness in my life after all.

 

 

The time that follows holds a kind of bliss I never imagined existed. I feel and see Peeta everywhere, always absorbed by him even when we’re not together. Every day I wake up wondering how I could have been so blind to this feeling for so long. Now that I’ve admitted it to myself and no longer fear it I can enjoy it in a way that was never possible before. Just the simple act of acknowledging that what I feel for him is love makes a lot of difference. I wonder if things will change and evolve even more when I am able to tell him the three words he never had any trouble saying to me. Something keeps me from saying them, a fear that if I speak the words I might be too happy and something bad will happen. I’m not supposed to be happy. Not like this. Not after everything I’ve been through and all the mistakes I’ve made, especially where Peeta is concerned.

There is darkness in my life still. The nightmares never go away for more than a few nights at a time. There are times when I miss my sister so much it almost makes it hard to breathe. Not a single day of my life goes by when I don’t think about and long for my child with Peeta. The difference is I find that these hardships are easier to bear when Peeta is with me and when I can make him happy.

It surprises me to find that it’s not exactly the same to live together now. When I first moved in with him we had gotten married because we had no other choice and there was an element of liberation to that in that it took away the pressure of making things work. Our marriage was not something we had to keep alive for our own sake; it was something that would always be there regardless of what we did. Because of this it was never a big deal if we argued or disagreed and if things were difficult between us for a few weeks it didn’t really matter because nothing could actually separate us other than death. Now we both have the option to stay or leave and that means we can’t take our relationship for granted. It adds a lot of excitement but it also adds challenges.

We’ve been back together for a few weeks when we have our first fight. While it’s going on it rattles me and makes me deeply afraid that we might not make things work. Then, once we’ve both had a chance to cool off, Peeta splashes me with water while we’re doing dishes through silent sulking. It takes me completely by surprise and not until I see his smirking face do I properly react and splash water right back at him. When we’re done splashing it out the kitchen floor is wet, the towels are wet, the previously dry dishes are wet and we are both soaking. There’s a bit of a stalemate while we both eye each other, trying to figure out the other’s next move. Then Peeta grabs an empty pot and quick as lightning scoops up whatever water is left in the sink and throws it at me. I don’t duck fast enough and shriek when the water hits me. I try to dry my eyes with my already wet sleeve and notice that Peeta is darting out through the kitchen door. I give chase and he doesn’t make it to the end of the yard before I tackle him and we fall down on the grass, both of us laughing like crazy children. He takes my face between his hands and kisses me and it dawns on me that we will not fall apart over anything as simple as a fight and if anything the fact that there’s no longer an pressure from outside forces that we must stay together only makes us stronger.

We build a life together. It’s full of nights by the fireplace, cheese buns, dinners with Haymitch, breakfasts in bed on Sunday mornings, kissing, walks in the woods, conversations that stretch long into the night and sex that is so good it makes me forget that anything but Peeta exists in the world. A few days per week I spend only the first half of the day in the woods and then I go to the market to barter and sell whatever I don’t need for myself. After I’m done at the marketplace I go to the bakery and help out in the store, staying clear of the kitchen where Peeta thinks I’m only in the way. Mike, the baker who moved here from District 6, helps out five days a week and he and I get along pretty well even if he is a little surly for my taste.

Summer turns to autumn and then winter. Long before the snow begins to fall I have packed up everything I moved out of Peeta’s house when I came back to Twelve and it has all been taken back to where it belongs. Peeta paints a few new paintings to put up on our walls and one of them in particular scares me yet fascinates me at the same time. It’s a painting of a mockingjay surrounded by the flames of revolution and in its eye there’s the reflection of me. Peeta offers to send it to Effie for her birthday if I don’t want it in the house but I allow it to stay. I don’t like looking at it but I know it’s a striking painting and it should stay in our home so now it hangs in the guest bedroom.

Winter turns to spring and as the woods begin to come alive I spend more time there. By now I am secure in my relationship with Peeta and while he’s constantly in my thoughts I don’t have the same urgent need to be with him at all times. Instead I begin to enjoy spending hours apart every day and then reuniting when it’s time for dinner. Memories stir of how my mother’s face used to light up when my father came through the door and I instinctively know that my face does the same when I see Peeta again in the late afternoon. I no longer take much of an interest in cooking and leave that up to him while I run upstairs to shower and change my clothes. Every once in a while he cooks something that needs to sit in the oven or on the stovetop for a while and on such days he usually comes up the stairs and joins me in the shower. After dinner we spend our evenings in the sitting room together, sometimes playing games or cuddling together on the couch and other times he paints or sketches while I read a book.

After a month or so we end up talking about fallen friends and tributes one night in bed and while it seems like a macabre form of pillow talk it’s a huge relief to be able to talk about it all. Peeta’s memories are not all the same as mine and it’s fascinating to hear him tell things I’ve never heard before about people we both knew. The next evening we begin to make a new book, similar to my father’s herbal book only this one is dedicated to people. We write down stories about the people we remember, details about them, quirks, things they said. Peeta draws them if we can’t find a photograph and it’s like they come back to life on the pages. We write about loved ones we’ve lost – Prim, my father, Peeta’s family. We write about tributes and soldiers who were our friends – Rue, Finnick, Boggs. We even write about tributes who were our enemies in the arena. Cato, Clove, Glimmer and the rest were just victims of the Capitol at the end of the day. Children forced to murder other children and who died in the arena for other people’s entertainment.

Haymitch joins us after a while, adding stories about people we knew and giving a lot of details about tributes he knew over the years going back as far as before his own Games. A detail here and there about a tribute who made an impression before they died. The book is a legacy, a horror story and a love story. Dr. Aurelius calls it therapy. He may be right.

 

 

On Midsummer’s Eve, one year to the date since I asked Peeta to let me come home and he obliged, the two of us lay together on a blanket on our lawn and enjoy the sun shining above our heads. We’re on our stomachs lying as close together as we can and in front of us there’s an open book that was once full of blank sheets of paper. Peeta draws simple sketches of flowers, birds or people in elaborate Capitol outfits and I then colour them like a seven year-old with a colouring book. I never had one when I was growing up but Madge once showed me the one she had as a child. It had been one of her most treasured possessions. Things that were commonplace in the Capitol were still luxurious even to the wealthiest citizens of District Twelve.

“You know, bluebirds are called _blue_ birds for a reason” comments Peeta when I use an orange crayon to colour the wings of the bird he’s drawn on the right side page.

“I like orange” I tell him. I glance up at him with a smile. “When it’s the shade of sunset. Not the shade of Effie’s hair.”

He remembers that conversation from so long ago and laughs. He watches me colour for a few minutes and I can tell there’s something on his mind. I wait for him to talk to me but he keeps silent until the whole bird has been coloured in orange and yellow and quite frankly looks more like one of Effie’s wigs than any sunset I’ve ever seen.

“A kiss for your thoughts” I say, my eyes meeting his.

“Will you marry me?” he asks, so out of the blue that at first I don’t believe I heard him right. “For real, this time? With a toasting and our friends singing the song and being together till death parts us? Doing it because we choose to and because we want to build a future together?” A tentative smile appears on his face. “Will you?”

“How’s tomorrow?” I blurt out, immediately hating myself for the lame reply. Peeta doesn’t seem to think there’s anything wrong with it however because the smile that lights up his face almost makes me as happy as his proposal did. “Yes” I tell him. “Yes of course.”

“Sorry I’m not too romantic about proposing” he says bashfully though a wide smile.

“You’re perfect.”

He grabs me and rolls me over on my back, kissing me deeply and hungrily. He gets on top of me and on a reflex I wrap a leg around his waist before I realize we’re out in our back yard at three o’clock in the afternoon and anyone might see us. Our lips part and I smile happily at him.

“I don’t know about tomorrow” he says. “I would like for some of our friends to be able to be here. Though don’t get me wrong, I appreciate your enthusiasm.”

“Come back inside the house with me and I’ll show you enthusiasm.”

He doesn’t need to be encouraged twice. We leave the blanket, the crayons and the sketchbook behind and hurry back inside where we promptly begin to tear at each other’s clothes. It’s a wonder that we even make it up the stairs but we finally land on top of our bed, inseparable, touching and kissing each other with a hunger that seems impossible to sate. I never thought the prospect of marriage would make me feel so happy but with Peeta it feels like finally being back where we belong. Before the year is over we will once more be husband and wife.

 

 

It takes some preparations before we can actually get married. A new legal system has been implemented and parts of it pertain to marriage. Before two people can be wed they have to file for permission which does not ring positive in my ears even though Claudia Minx, the woman who runs what is called the Family Law office at the Justice Building, assures me that the government is not out to prevent people from entering into marriage. What they do is they run a quick background check on both parties to ensure that neither one of them is already married, that both are of legal age and that they don’t share any close blood bonds. If you pass that check you can file for your marriage license and you will have it within a fortnight. It frustrates me that it has to take so long but Peeta doesn’t think it’s that big of a deal. He gets me to agree to set a wedding date for the end of October. The legal department runs half-staffed June through August so we can’t expect to have our license ready until late August or early September anyway and he wants some time to plan the event.

The last week of August I come home early from the woods, driven back home by the intense heat. A green light is blinking on the answering machine sitting next to our telephone. Peeta bought it when he started up the bakery again so that he wouldn’t miss important calls when he was out of the house. I walk over and press the button that plays the message and I smile excitedly when I hear Peeta’s eager voice telling me that our documents have arrived and that he’s heading over to the Justice Building to sign his copy of the application for a marriage license. He encourages me to do the same so that we can apply for our license by the end of the day. I don’t even bother with a shower and hurry out the front door just a few seconds after the message finishes playing.

I reach the new Justice Building and try not to feel uncomfortable around it. It’s been built about two hundred yards from where the old building stood so it’s not the exact same place where my father’s memorial service was held and where Peeta and I and all the other tributes were brought up to stage and then taken to say farewell to our families. All the same it makes me uncomfortable to be here and I wish we could have our wedding someplace else but law dictates that the papers need to be signed in the offices of the Justice Building.

Inside the air is cool, a relief from the oppressive heat outside. With my sleeve I wipe the sweat from my forehead and stop to look at the signs to figure out where I need to go. Family Law is located on the second floor and I hurry up the stairs to find the right office. The new Justice Building is large and spacious inside with marble pillars contrasting with the concrete walls which are still in the process of being painted white. As I run up the stairs the sound of my shoes hitting the floor is muffled by the thick red carpet that lines the floor from the moment you enter the building. I’ve heard that walking on red carpets was once considered a sign of honour but to me it draws to mind the sight of blood surrounding tributes at the Cornucopia.

I reach the second floor and stop to look around. There’s a black sign with thin gold letters that spell out “Family Law” and I walk over to the oak desk where the receptionist sits.

“Good afternoon, Miss Everdeen” twitters the thirty-something redhead behind the desk who obviously recognizes me. Going by the look on her face this is the best day of her career, getting to play even the smallest part in Peeta’s and my remarrying. Something about that is very sad but I don’t stop to think about it. “Here is your copy” she says and hands me a few papers. “Mr. Mellark got here about twenty minutes ago. He’s waiting for you down the hall, third door to the left. Once you have signed the papers hand them to me and I will make sure they are processed right away.”

I thank her and begin to read through the papers on my way to the room where Peeta waits. My documents are the first ones in the bunch and they list my date and place of birth, my full name, my previous marriage complete with date of marriage and date of divorce and they mention my status as a Hunger Games victor.

I stop dead in my tracks when I read the next line and panic builds in me with so much force I almost lose the ability to stand on my legs.

“Number of children: One.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it will be interesting to hear what people have to say about this chapter =) You'll have to wait a while to see what happens next 'cause I'm going on vacation and will have only limited Internet access!


	14. Part 3 - the Fallout

I can’t breathe. Panic threatens to suffocate me. The paper in my hand clearly shows that I have given birth to a child six years ago. It even shows the date and time of birth. It never entered my mind that they would think to include that kind of information nor that there was some way for them to find out about the baby. Bile rises in my throat and I want to vomit but I fight the urge. I look up from the papers and try to remember what room Peeta was in.

“Is everything alright?” the redhead asks behind my back.

“Fine” I manage. “Which room was he in?”

“Third to the left.”

I stumble to the right door and pull it open, profoundly unprepared for whatever will await me on the other side. As quick as I can I step into the room and close the door shut behind me. Then I look at Peeta.

He sits in an armchair, slumped forward with the papers in his hands. He’s got his usual kind of baking clothes on, black t-shirt, beige slacks, a worn but fairly clean apron, but his body language screams that nothing is usual today. He lifts his head wearily and looks at me with a mixture of disbelief, fury and hurt. I try to swallow but my mouth is completely dry. What could I possibly say to him? One of my worst nightmares has just become reality and if I ever had any fraction of hope that he would understand that hope dies when I see the look on his face, the posture of his body.

“Tell me Katniss” he says in an emotionless voice. “Do I have a daughter? Or is it a son?” My eyes dart to the paper but before I can confirm that it lists Gale as the father Peeta continues to speak. “It says the father is Gale Hawthorne but that’s not true, is it? Even if you were screwing us both, which I admit I find unlikely, you could never have known for _certain_. I can do math. You gave birth forty weeks after our dalliance on the train.”

“Peeta” I say, stepping closer to him.

He flies to his feet and I stop. He snorts and shakes his head at me in disbelief. I get the sense that he was hoping for me to tell him it is all just a clerical error but since I haven’t made any attempt at denying what’s written on the papers he can only draw the conclusion that the information is correct. For an insane instant I feel anger towards him for not immediately writing the information off as an error or an outright lie but perhaps he always sensed that there was something I wasn’t sharing with him. Either way I can hardly blame him for any emotion he’s feeling right now. He rips the papers apart and I watch the pieces floating to the floor as he storms past me and leaves without saying another word. When the door slams shut behind me I sink to my knees, barely feeling the soft red carpet beneath me, and begin to hyperventilate.

It takes probably five or ten minutes for me to pull myself together enough to get back up on my feet and go over to collect the shards of paper. They shouldn’t be seen by nosy gossiping employees of the Family Law department who would probably spread the news to all of Panem if they found out my secret. I ball the shards of paper in my hands and shove it in my pocket with the intention of burning it once I get home.

Feeling sick I head back to the house, knowing there’s no other place Peeta would go now. At first I think I might be able to catch up with him before he reaches home but I quickly realize it’s no use nor is there much point to it. Whatever confrontation we are about to have it is better that it takes place indoors where nobody can see us or hear us.

When I reach the house I stop by the mailbox, feeling almost as scared of walking up to the porch and through the front door as I was to step into the launch platform before the Hunger Games. Just like that time I have no choice and nowhere to run. Deep down I know that whatever Peeta will say to me I deserve to hear it and more than that he has the right to have answers for all the questions that must be going through his mind. I wrap my arms around myself, shivering in spite of the heat, and slowly walk the steps up to our front door.

I find Peeta in the sitting room. He’s on the couch with his elbows resting on his knees and his forehead leaned against the palm of his right hand. He hears me coming in but can’t seem to look at me. I stop in the doorway and desperately try to figure out what to say.

“I’m so sorry” is the only thing I can manage.

“Sorry doesn’t even _begin_ to...” He cuts himself off and shakes his head. “I didn’t even believe it until I saw the look on your face when you walked through that door. It’s impossible to believe a thing like that about a person you’ve been with the way we’ve been with each other all these years. Though the more I think about it the more it seems like little pieces of a puzzle are coming together.”

“I’m sorry” I say again. “I know how awful this must seem.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Is my child a girl or a boy?”

“I don’t know.”

“Like _hell_ you don’t!” he yells, flying up on his feet. I recoil, frightened by this side of him which I have never really seen before. “You can’t give birth to a baby and not know if it’s a boy or a girl!” he barks.

“I closed my eyes when the baby had come” I say, doing the same thing now. “I couldn’t go through with it if I saw him or her. I couldn’t bear knowing if it was a he or a she. So I really don’t know.”

“Well poor you” he snarls.

I open my eyes again and feel tears falling down my cheeks. Peeta is pacing back and forth like a caged animal, his eyes wild and his whole body cooking with anger.

“I’m sorry” I whisper again.

“Stop telling me that you’re goddamn _sorry_!” yells Peeta. His hand finds one of the candlesticks he once gave me for our anniversary and he throws it at the wall with enough force that it breaks on impact. “You don’t even have the _right_ to be sorry! You carried my baby, our baby, for nine months and you gave it away like it was a damn puppy and just like every other time I was too damn unimportant for you to bother including me. Did Haymitch know? Was this another scheme the pair of you cooked up together?”

“Haymitch doesn’t know” I say. “Only Gale.”

“Yeah. Thanks for telling _him_ but not _me_!”

“I was only trying to protect the baby” I say. “Please, _please_ believe me. I swear I didn’t tell Haymitch. Don’t be angry at him.”

“How could you do this?” asks Peeta, switching from fury to overwhelming sadness. He has tears in his eyes and the betrayal he feels seeps in to his voice and almost makes me recoil. “All I ever did was love you and you do this to me? This, this _sordid_ deception. You never were _sick_ after the Tour, I gather that much. You let me worry about you and all that time you were actually planning to give my son or daughter away. Who adopted the baby?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t allowed to find out. Those were the terms of the adoption.”

“You married me” says Peeta with hurt and disbelief. “Lived with me, in his house. Slept with me. You let me love you. What kind of person are you? Who can live with somebody and lie to their face every single moment of every day? I really never had the faintest idea who you are, did I? God you must have been so relieved that I’m so indescribably _stupid_. All you had to do was bat your eyes at me and I wouldn’t think you capable of something so wretched.”

Every word that comes out of his mouth feels like the lick of a whip. He keeps on talking, keeps venting his anger and frustration and sadness and disbelief and I stand there and take every word. He goes back and forth between barely controlled rage and desperate sadness, at one point begging me to tell him that none of this is real but I can’t acquiesce. After what must be close to half an hour he suddenly walks over to me and grabs the balled up papers I’m holding in my hand. He stomps over  and throws them in the fireplace.

“When were you going to tell me?” he then asks, kneeling to get a fire going.

“What?” I ask hoarsely.

“Was that ever going to happen? Or did you plan on letting me live the rest of my life without knowing about this child? Did you plan on having other children with me and never letting me know they had a sibling?”

“I never meant for you to find out” I admit even though I know it hurts him.

“Yeah I bet” he says through gritted teeth. The fire begins to cackle, burning the documents that would have allowed for us to get married, and he rises to his feet. “To think I actually believed you felt something for me when you came in to my kitchen last summer and babbled about missing me. I can’t believe how incredibly moronic I am. How _naive_. Seriously, it’s a wonder I can even walk upright. Even when you came to ask me to let you move back in, even when you lived with me all year, even when you agreed to marry me I never lingered on the one thing I have _never_ heard you say to me.”

“I don’t understand.”

He laughs bitterly and runs a hand through his curly hair.

“You have never told me you love me.”

I realize that he’s right. I’ve never actually said the words even though there’s no doubt I feel it. I’m not good with putting words to my feelings and to be honest I didn’t think it was necessary for me to say it. I thought it was obvious how I feel and Peeta seemed to know it. Words are just words at the end of the day. Anyone can say those three words and not even mean them but it takes genuine love to kiss someone the way I’ve kissed him and to touch and caress someone the way I’ve done with him. I thought my behaviour said what my words could not but he needed more. Now it’s too late. If I say the words now he’s not going to believe me. Even if he does they would forever be tainted by the situation we are in.

“I chose you” I say instead.

“Well lucky me” he snorts. “Your choices rarely have anything to do with genuine feelings for anyone but yourself. You chose to ally with me in the arena and that sure as hell wasn’t because you _cared_ about me. You chose to give away my son or daughter and to then lie to me about it by omission. I’m sure there’s some big reason why you came knocking on my door last year but it had nothing to do with love and whatever the reason why you agreed to marry me it’s not because you want _me_.”

“I want this, Peeta” I insist, fighting the building panic. It went away for a while when Peeta was ranting but now it’s back and I don’t know what he’s going to do, how this will end. Most likely I will lose my boy with the bread and he will never know that I love him so much. “I want us, _you_.”

“No, you _need_ me” Peeta shoots back. “That’s entirely different. You need me to help chase away the nightmares. I survived the same arena as you did, lived the same horrors. Had it been Claudius Templesmith in that arena with you you’d need him the same way. Love, _affection_ even, doesn’t play any part in it.”

“That’s not true, Peeta” I tell him.

“Of course it fucking is” he spits out and I’m so shocked at hearing him use that word that I just stare at him. “Hell, I don’t even think it’s entirely about having survived the Games together. When I wanted a divorce you wasted no time moving in with Gale and as soon as he left you ran back to me. You can’t handle being alone, can you Katniss? Guess what, some of us are not so lucky that we have suitors lined up and we can just pick one up when another has been discarded. I was alone for over a year after the revolution. Though really I was alone all along, wasn’t I? It takes a certain kind of blackened heart to bear someone’s child and then use him to keep yourself from feeling lonely or afraid. Did you ever stop to consider my feelings? My emotions? My rights to my own child?”

“Every day.”

“You’re a horrible liar.” Suddenly he laughs, desperately and a little too loudly. “Only you’re not because you lied to me for six damn years. _Six years_. I never even got the chance to _look_ at my baby and now he or she is almost six years old. Old enough to tell stories and sing songs and...”

He trails off and I pray that he wasn’t going to finish that sentence with “old enough to fall in love”. I find myself torn between desperately wishing that this will be over and just as desperately wishing that he’ll keep yelling at me forever. As long as he’s ranting he’s still here and I haven’t truly lost him. When this is over I will have to leave this house and leave his life, for good this time.

Peeta walks over to the couch and sits heavily, staring blankly at the table in front of him. I’m still in the doorway. I don’t trust my legs to carry me if I try to move and I’m not sure where else to stand since Peeta has been moving around quite a lot.

“When my family died...” he begins, speaking in a detached voice as if he can’t believe he’s talking about himself. “When they died I said... I said to you... that I have no family left. You held me and said something, I don’t know what. You knew I had a child and yet you kept your mouth shut about it. You let me believe I was all alone.”

“You were not alone” I say. “Haymitch... Me...”

“They took everything from me” he continues in a hollow voice. “The Capitol took my future when I was reaped, took my right to choose my own future after the arena and they took my leg. They took my ability to sleep soundly at night and to feel safe. They took away any chance I ever had at building a real romantic relationship with anyone, especially with you.” He swallows. “I can’t believe they even took my child. And you let them.”

Of all his reactions today this is the one that hurts me the most. The resignation, as if all hope has left him. The sweet boy with the bread, so broken and desolate. The full impact of my betrayal hasn’t hit me until now even though I’ve struggled with the guilt for six years. I did all I could think of to make him happy and eventually realized I had fallen in love with him. I kissed him, held him, made love to him, comforted him, let him tell me everything that was in his heart and mind and all the while I kept the secret from him. I can see in his face now that all his trust has completely shattered. It survived learning that I was only faking in the arena but it can’t survive this. I cannot imagine what he must be feeling. He’s right. The word “wretched” is not enough to describe me, the woman who let him believe she loved him when she had taken the most important thing in his life away from him. The fact that I do love him only makes it worse.

“I was desperate, Peeta” I say, hoping he can understand on some level. “I couldn’t let Snow put our baby in the arena.”

He looks up at me. His eyes are weary and his voice hollow when he speaks.

“I’m going to Haymitch’s.” He rises to his feet. “You have twelve hours to pack your things. Anything I find that’s yours when I come back I will either burn it or throw it on your lawn or... I don’t know. Just have it all out of my sight.”

He leaves through the back door and when he’s gone I’m too empty and sad to even cry. Fearing that I won’t be able to handle my thoughts if I let myself think and feel too much I begin to collect my belongings, working mechanically. I gather everything I can think of that belongs to me, including the picture Peeta drew of me that Gale thought I should keep. I’m worried he might destroy it if it stays in the house and I can’t bear to think of this particular sketch of me being ruined. So much love went in to drawing it and I need to hold on to as much of that love as I can. It might be all I have left of his affection for me but I can’t let myself think about that right now.

It’s past midnight when I’ve gathered everything and begin to move it over to my old house. I notice that lights are on in Haymitch’s house. Haymitch rarely sleeps when it’s dark out and I doubt Peeta will be getting much sleep tonight either. With a heavy heart I finish carrying the boxes over to my house but when the last one has been set down on the kitchen floor I still walk back to the other house. With tears falling down my face I make my way up the stairs. I remove my clothes, open a window slightly and put on a pair of Peeta’s boxers and the t-shirt he slept in last night. I lift up the comforter and get into bed, curling up into a ball. My hand caresses the spot on the pillow where Peeta’s head is supposed to be. The loss of him is physically painful, an ache deep in my heart that spreads throughout my whole body. I cry myself to sleep and wake up early in the morning, picking up my clothes from the floor and walking back to my old house, still wearing Peeta’s underwear and t-shirt.

 

 

The week that follows is pure agony. I barely eat or sleep and spend almost all my time sitting in an armchair staring blankly at the fireplace. The loss is too heavy to fathom and I can’t bear having to add another one to my ever growing list. Father, Rue, Madge, Finnick, Prim, Mother, Gale, my son or daughter and now Peeta. Probably Haymitch, too. How could he possibly stand to be around me now that he no doubt knows my secret? He was ready to cast me aside for dating Gale and this is about a trillion times worse.

Still it’s Haymitch I turn to when ten days have gone by and I can’t stand the loneliness anymore. I take a shower just so I won’t have to hear him comment on my appearance and then I braid my wet hair and dress in something remotely clean. On my way to his house I try not to look at Peeta’s. I want so desperately to know how he is doing but I’m better off not knowing. If I’m feeling like I want to die I can’t even imagine what he must be going through.

I walk inside Haymitch’s house and head straight for the kitchen. He’s not there. Nervously I wonder if Peeta is here somewhere and if there will be some form of horrible confrontation. I hear footsteps on the stairs and turn around, holding my breath. Haymitch appears in the doorway and for a moment we stare at each other wordlessly. Then he holds his arms out to me and I cross the distance between us. Haymitch pulls me close, his arms wrapping around me in a warm embrace.

“You poor child” he says with compassion in his voice.

This causes me to break. I haven’t cried since the night when Peeta found out but now I can’t stop the sobs that seem to make my whole body shake. Haymitch doesn’t let go of me, if anything he holds me closer.

“You don’t hate me?” I ask through my sobs.

“Not even close.”

I cling to him desperately, relieved beyond words to find him supportive and even concerned for me. Then I start to feel worried. Perhaps he doesn’t know. Perhaps it was too much for Peeta to handle and all he told Haymitch was that the wedding was off. I pull back a little and look Haymitch in the eye.

“Do you know?” I ask. “Do you know what I did?”

“The boy told me everything.” His hand reaches up and wipes away the tears from my cheek though it’s futile since new ones keep falling. “My brave, young tribute. What guts it took to do what you did. I only wish you had come to me. Maybe I couldn’t have helped you find a better way but I could have supported you.”

More sobs ripple through me and it takes several minutes before I can form words. While I cry Haymitch lifts me up and carries me to the sitting room where he sits me down on the couch. He takes a seat next to me and I cry against his shoulder.

“I couldn’t tell you” I gasp through my sobs, grabbing the fabric of his shirt with my fist and holding it tight, not caring that it smells of old booze. “I wanted to but I couldn’t. Every additional person who knew made it more dangerous. And... and... I couldn’t make you an accomplice to this. If Peeta was ever going to find out I didn’t want him to hate us both.”

“You’re such a fool, sweetheart” says Haymitch gently and rests his hand on the back of my head. “I’m proud of you. Caught between a rock and a hard place you chose the best out of the massively crappy options.”

“Peeta doesn’t think so” I blubber.

“Understand how shocked he is” says Haymitch. “It’s going to be a while before he can think straight about this. I’m not going to lie, Peeta may never forgive you. It’s the price you pay for saving your child’s life and I think we both know you’d do it again if you had to. I would _encourage_ you to do it again.”

“You really think I did the right thing?” I ask.

“You acted like a mother should. You put the life of your child above everything else. Katniss don’t think I don’t understand how painful this was for you. I don’t think you came to this decision lightly. In fact I’m willing to bet it has caused you pain every single day since you made up your mind.”

“I thought you would hate me for this” I tell him. “You love Peeta and I’ve gone and hurt him worse than ever before.”

“I care about you both. You may not think it but I cared about you a great deal while you were with Gale, too. I stayed in Peeta’s corner at that time because I was all he had and you had Gale but if you had needed me I would have been there. I’m not abandoning you over this. When the boy is ready to hear it I will tell him he’s wrong to hate even though I doubt he’ll agree with me. He’s never been practical.”

“No, don’t tell him that” I say and try to wipe away my tears. I sniffle and happily take the blanket Haymitch offers, wrapping it around me to stop the shivers that run through me. “I want him to feel like you’re on his side. He doesn’t have to understand why I did what I did. He will always be right about me deceiving him.”

“He owes you the life and safety of his child” says Haymitch. “Or he would have if the war hadn’t happened. Nothing should matter more than that.”

“I never told him” I point out. “I know I couldn’t tell him under the circumstances but that doesn’t mean I didn’t lie to him every day. I was his wife, Haymitch, and I was never honest with him.”

“Thank God he found out before you got remarried” says Haymitch. “I’m afraid things could have gotten ugly if the two of you had been married when he found out the truth. As it stands you can just part ways and Peeta can have time to process this without divorce papers having to be drawn and the two of you arguing over who gets to keep the damn cast iron pot, all while the media goes into a feeding frenzy.”

“Maybe if we had been married he would have had an incentive to stay” I say. I don’t even almost believe it and Haymitch doesn’t dignify it with a reply. I look up at him and try to dry my tears. “How is he?”

“I’ve never seen him this upset” admits Haymitch hesitantly. “He... yelled a lot, broke a few things. Then he cried. I figured it would take a few days for him to get through the worst of it and begin to think ahead but the very next day he had formulated a plan. I suppose he wasn’t sleeping much and his mind was hard at work. You know Peeta. If he wants something badly or finds himself in a tricky situation he likes to formulate a strategy.”

“A plan?”

“He left for the Capitol three days after he found out about the child.”

I spring to my feet in a panic but Haymitch catches my arm and stops me.

“Let go of me!” I shout. “Let go! I have to follow him. I have to--”

“The boy needs to see his child” says Haymitch in a tone that won’t be argued with. “You had your chance to say goodbye and get closure and he needs the same.”

“I said goodbye to an _infant_ ” I growl and pull myself loose. “What does he think he’s going to do? Ring a doorbell and tell some kid he’s their father?”

“I don’t know but he deserves the chance” says Haymitch. “Relax, would you? He probably won’t even be able to find the adoptive parents. Who knows if those archives survived the war?”

"Then what is even the point?” I snarl. “Did you think sending him on a wild goose chase would make everything better?”

“I didn’t send him anywhere” argues Haymitch calmly and stands up. “Hopefully he will find the child and be able to come face to face with her or him and find some measure of closure. If he doesn’t he’ll at least know he tried. Give him some credit, Katniss. He can still meet the kid without revealing who he is.”

“No” I say, holding up both hands. “No. I can’t allow it. I did not sacrifice this much to have Peeta step in and turn that child’s life on its head. I have to stop him.”

“Do what you think is best” says Haymitch in a resigned tone. “Trains to the Capitol leave once a week and you’re in luck because tomorrow’s the departure date.”

Spontaneously I give him a hug. Then I hurry out the door to pack whatever I’ll need to bring. Trains to the Capitol leave early in the morning and I want to make sure I’m on the next one.

 

 

I get as far as the Capitol train station before I even remember I’m not allowed to leave District 12. To the best of my knowledge there’s no form of ID check when you enter the city but even though it’s been a few years I’m still a very recognizable face and there’s a great risk that somebody will notice me. I rush into the tiny bathroom at the end of the train car I share with about twelve other people and I stare at my face in the mirror. Maybe nobody will be able to recognize me. The person staring back at me in the mirror is miles away from the beautiful and even vibrant young woman who used to appear on TV with Peeta Mellark. There are dark circles under my eyes, I look weary and seem to have aged ten years over the past ten days. My hair is in bad shape and really ought to have been cut months ago. My eyebrows are bushy compared to what they looked like when stylists plucked them, I haven’t got a dab of makeup on my face and if my eyes ever were vibrant they’re anything but right now. Right now I barely even recognize myself.

Impulsively I pull the hood of my jacket up over my head. Only my face sticks out, not my dark braid. Perhaps looking like this nobody will recognize me while I get off the train but if I’m going to run around in the Capitol it’s only a matter of time before somebody sees me. I can’t go to Paylor or anyone else in her government. They’re not going to change the terms of my confinement if I’ve already broken the previous terms. I have to find some other way.

The train pulls in to the station. I grab my small bag and try my best to blend in with the group of people that exits, keeping my eyes on the ground in the hopes that if I look down nobody will get a good glimpse of my face. The station is crowded and it’s easy to blend in with the others, at least for now. An idea has begun to form in my head. I reach the walkway by the road and wave a taxi. Once I’m in the backseat I give the driver Effie Trinket’s address.

To say that it’s a joyous reunion is a lie. Effie looks so shocked to see me and then she’s instantly nervous that somebody might find out that I’m here without permission. I can’t tell her what my errand in the Capitol is so I just tell her that I have business to take care of and it’s urgent and very important. I tell her it pertains to Peeta and she grudgingly agrees to take me in. She looks a little relieved when I assure her that I’m not looking for accommodations. All I need is a few of her wigs. They went out of style after the fall of the Capitol but some still like to wear them and I can disguise my appearance better if I have one on.

“I had heard Peeta was in the city” Effie tells me, leading me through her small apartment which is full of gaudy ornaments and drapes, carpets and paintings in all sorts of colours. “Rumour has it he’s been down at the national archives the past few days but who knows what he’s looking for? When people have asked me, and of course they ask me darling, everyone knows I’m very close with the pair of you, I tell them it probably has to do with some legal issues related to you two having already been married in the past. Perhaps some documents from that marriage that weren’t filed properly, that sort of thing, you know?”

I swallow hard and try to hide my nervousness. Peeta doesn’t seem to have been very discreet. I wonder if he’s found anything of value and what he’ll do if that happens.

“It’s something like that” I tell Effie. “In fact, I came here to help him. Only, well, I’m not supposed to be here and since I’m not I don’t know how to find out which hotel room he’s staying in. I need to get my own room of course so people won’t get suspicious when they hear he’s sharing a room with someone but I need to find where he is.”

Effie is helpful once she’s stopped worrying and she packs me a bag with two old wigs, puts sunglasses on my face and then calls the hotel and makes a reservation for me under the name Eleonora Mist. Apparently it was her mother’s maiden name. I thank her and give her a kiss on the cheek before I’m off again. Luckily for me there’s only one hotel in the Capitol at this time so I will automatically end up staying at the same place as Peeta. How I will be able to actually find him is a whole other matter entirely but I have to do it right away. He’s been here a whole week. He might have found our child several days ago.

When I arrive at the hotel I walk up to the desk and mumble my alias. The woman behind the desk doesn’t recognize me or find anything unusual about the name or my getup. She hands me a key card and tells me that someone called ahead and left me a message. I take it and read it on the elevator on my way up to the fifth floor.

     “ _Darling, my name still carries some clout. I called and got Peeta’s room number. He’s in 703. I hope whatever this is will be sorted out in good time before the wedding. Can’t wait! Oh, and I hope you’re not wearing white on the big day, dear, that would be unsuitable under the circumstances. Love and kisses – Effie._ ”

“Oh Effie” I whisper with a smile. “Thank you.”

Once I’m in my hotel room I take a quick shower and change my clothes. I let Effie’s wigs sit on the bed and leave my wet hair hanging down my back, feeling that the risk of getting caught is fairly small while I’m at the hotel. I put the sunglasses on and head for the elevators, taking them up to the seventh floor.

My hand is shaking when I ball it up to a fist and knock on the door to room 703. It takes a few minutes and two rounds of knocking before anyone answers and while I wait every cell in my body screams at me to leave. Only the fear of what will happen to my child if I don’t makes me stay. Finally the door opens and Peeta stands there, looking like he’s barely slept all week long but with the kind of determination in his eyes that I’ve seen only rarely but which has never failed him. His eyes turn darker when he sees that it’s me and I take a small step back, repelled by his animosity.

“What do you want?” he asks in a monotone.

“Let me in” I say. “Before somebody recognizes me.”

“I should alert the authorities” he says coldly. “Have you thrown out.”

He steps aside and lets me in. His room is marginally bigger than mine and my eyes immediately go to the bed in the centre of the room. The bedspread is wrinkled, like he’s been sleeping on top of it. I guess he has. If he’s slept much at all.

Peeta closes the door and walks past me to the writing desk opposite the bed, picking up a bunch of papers and beginning to fiddle with them. He doesn’t say anything to me and after a few minutes I wonder if he’s forgotten that I’m here. I should be the one to speak first but I don’t really know what to say to him. What has he found out? Has he seen the child?

“Effie tells me there are rumours about you” I say and I have to hark my voice to get it to work properly. “That you’ve been looking through the archives.”

“Tell her the rumours are true” he replies coldly. “If gossip is important to you.”

“It’s not.”

“Why are you here, Katniss?”

“You can’t go looking for the child, Peeta” I say. He turns his head to look at me but I ignore the ice cold stare. “No matter how much you want to, you can’t.”

“Says who? You?”

“Yes.” I take a few steps closer, careful not to get too close when he doesn’t want me near. “I know this is awful but it’s the way things are. When I gave the child away it was with the stipulation that we can’t make contact later on. Even if we were allowed to it’s not right.”

“Is that important to you? What’s right and what’s not?”

“This is not about me” I argue. “Nor is it about you. It’s about the child and what’s best for him or her.”

“It’s a boy” reveals Peeta and puts a small stack of papers in a drawer.

The revelation makes me quiet. A boy. We share a son. I always thought I didn’t want to know whether the baby was a he or a she but finding out that I gave birth to a son fills my heart with unexpected joy. Perhaps the reaction would have been the same if he had told me the child was a girl but somehow it feels like it’s easier when it’s a boy. A girl would have reminded me too much of Prim.

“I’m seeing him tomorrow afternoon” says Peeta. “You can’t stop me so don’t try. To be honest I want to tell you to go back to Twelve and never speak to me again but... but if you want to come along then I won’t stop you.”

“Why not?” I can’t help but ask.

“I can’t do to you what you’ve done to me.”

It’s a horrible thing to say but he could have said it in a much worse way. The implication is clear as day. He can’t bring himself to deny me what I’ve been denying him.

“I’m not sure I can see... him” I say honestly.

“It’s up to you. I could give a damn either way.” He sniggers. “To tell you the truth Katniss I’m far from convinced the child matters to you, so why should you care to see him?”

“That is _not_ fair!” I cry. The shock of hearing something like that coming from kind, understanding and gentle Peeta goes a long way to snap me out of my feeble state. I walk up to him and slam my palm down on the desk, getting his attention. “You do not get to say that to me. Giving him up was the hardest thing I ever did in my _life_ and that’s saying something.”

“I’m not just saying it to piss you off, Katniss” retorts Peeta and turns to face me. “I’ve thought about it ever since the day I found out and honest to God I can’t think of any other explanation. How can a person just go on with their life the way you did if they’ve turned away someone they care about? If it had been me it would have occupied my thoughts constantly.”

“Do you think he’s ever been far from my mind?”

“You sure haven’t seen preoccupied or bothered by it.”

“Peeta...” I take a deep breath and expect him to cut me off but he’s silent. “Don’t you see? I had no other choice. It was the only solution I could think of. I had to protect him from the Hunger Games and I was willing to do _anything_. Giving him up is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do but it saved his life. I never told you because I had to make Snow think Gale was the father in order to get him to agree to the adoption. I knew I was betraying you and believe me, it’s been eating me alive. I knew it would crush you if you ever learned the truth but it had to be done. Say what you will but I didn’t make the _selfish_ choice. I chose to protect the baby.”

“By giving him away to strangers. Capitol strangers.”

“It kept him alive.”

“There’s more to life than just _survival_ ” argues Peeta.

“What good is anything else if you’re dead?” I argue back.

“He could have grown up in District 12 with parents who loved him, surrounded by his grandparents and his uncles and his aunt, and made it to his nineteenth birthday without being reaped. He could have had a full, happy life with us in the place where he belongs. Instead you gave him to Capitol people. Vapid, shallow, thoughtless, empty, mindless Capitol people. Yeah he might live until he’s ninety but what kind of person will he be? Someone we can be proud of? Someone we would like him to be?”

“I want him to be alive. You don’t get to pass judgment because he wasn’t growing inside _your_ body. Keeping him out of the arena trumps everything else.”

“You preferred him to be someone who cheered along at the Games. A person who saw it as _entertainment_ , who truly though it was _happy_ Hunger Games. What about our other children, did you ever think of that? Snow would have made us have kids eventually, ones you couldn’t pawn off on somebody else. If one of them had gone into the arena that boy would have _cheered_ when they died. That is sick. It’s beyond sick! You jeopardized his very _soul_.”

I remember far too well the things he said that night before we went into the arena. How he didn’t want the Capitol to change him. I never in a million years thought he would extend that thought to be willing to throw his children’s lives away over it.

“You don’t know that he would be like that” I counter. “Cinna is not like that, Portia is not like that, even Plutarch Heavensbee is not like that. There were plenty of others in the Capitol who were not like that and they helped us during the rebellion.”

“But who gave you the right to take that chance with him? It was my baby too and I would have never agreed to polluting him this way.”

“Then it’s a good thing I didn’t tell you!” I bark.

He snorts, shaking his head and looking at me like he can’t believe a word that comes out of my mouth.

“I care about his soul. I care about giving him good values. You gave my baby, our baby, away to be raised into exactly what we hate. Don’t you see? Who you are as a person _matters_. There’s more to being alive than staying alive.” His eyes trail over me. “Though I suppose that’s all there is to you. Survival. Nothing more.”

“I care who he is and who he becomes” I say, trying not to let my emotions get the better of me. I can’t comprehend that I’m having such an ugly, spiteful conversation with the sweet boy with the bread, the man who was my loving husband. “I guess I just had faith that who he was on the inside could not be changed by a Capitol upbringing and that there was enough of us in him to make him good.”

“I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”

“How... How did you arrange to get to see him?” I ask, faltering a little.

“Found the right documents in the archives. Phoned the adoptive parents.”

“Did you tell them who you were? I mean, in relation to the child?”

“No, Katniss, I told them I’m some random man who wants to come and have a look at their six year-old” Peeta spits out. “Of course I told them that I’m the biological father.”

My hand goes up and covers my mouth. No matter how eager he is to meet his son he ought to be smarter than that.

“God, Peeta, you have to be more discreet.”

“I’m not ashamed of why I’m here” argues Peeta. “Furthermore I trust the people raising him to not want to alert the media about this. Now was there anything else? I have a lot to do before tomorrow. If you want to come along there’s a car picking me up downstairs at nine. Be there or don’t be there. Whatever’s more comfortable to you.”

With a lump in my throat I turn and walk slowly towards the door. Before I leave I take another look at Peeta who has gone back to fidgeting with the papers. I see almost no trace of the man I’ve lived with, the man I love. What I see is a bitter and angry person with no amount of empathy or sympathy for the person who has wronged him. It was me who did this to him. He didn’t want the Games to change him and they didn’t but somehow I managed to. That knowledge hurts worse than anything else right now.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a few re-writes to Peeta in this chapter, going back and forth a bit on exactly how angry he would be in this situation. I hope the end result worked. Let me know what you thought of the chapter as a whole!


	15. Chapter 15

Peeta walks two steps ahead of me up the red stone path that leads to the small house. It’s one of the newer houses built after the war. Most of the old, lavish ones were torn down as part of the much milder punishment doled out by President Paylor. It didn’t seem right to her that Capitol citizens should live in large beautiful houses while the newly liberated people of Panem lived in shanties and barracks so the suburban houses were stripped of anything with value and then torn down. New houses were built in their places and the constructions provided a lot of jobs. The houses are still big and fancy compared to what we are used to in District Twelve but it doesn’t compare to the places I’ve seen in these areas before the war.

I draw whatever strength I can from Peeta’s presence, though it’s more difficult now than it was when we were tributes together and I thought he was out to kill me for the sake of his own survival. He looks different today compared to yesterday. His clothes aren’t rumpled, he’s taken a shower and his face is clean-shaven. During the car ride over I found myself wondering how soft his chin feels now and if our son’s chin feels the same. When our son grows older will his facial hair be a shade darker than the hair on his head, the way Peeta’s is? I’m not sure I will ever have the privilege to find out.

Peeta knocks on the door and I stay a few feet behind him. He’s determined to meet his son but I’m petrified. I don’t even know for sure why I came along. It’s been so long and I don’t know what to expect. More importantly, nothing has changed for me. I’ll never get to be a mother to this boy and I’m just as afraid as ever that once I have a face to my child I will never see anything other than that face every time I close my eyes.

I don’t know what I was expecting from the adoptive parents but I know it’s not the couple who answer the door. Their names, I was told in the car, are Alexandria and Sulla Applebee. Both are in their mid-forties and ran a luxurious shop selling soaps and bath salts and the like before the war. Her skin has been dyed a pale pink hue that makes her look like a really pale person who got a sunburn. In fact, if it wasn’t for the symmetry of her colouring I would have assumed it was a sunburn. Her hair is blood red and cut in a shoulder-length style that curls at the ends. Her husband has his natural skin colour but sports a tattoo of a golden star on his right cheek. There are a few grey strands in his thick black hair and even a few in his moustache. His nose is big and sharp and his green eyes look friendly. I thought they would be uncomfortable by our visit; we are, after all, the biological parents of their son. Instead they are both smiling excitedly and appear to be star-struck at the sight of us which makes me embarrassed for them.

“Oh you’re here!” squeals Alexandria and grabs Peeta’s hand in both of hers. “Come in, come in! This is so exciting, really, I can’t believe it.”

“Wonderful to see you!” booms Sulla in a thundering voice. “Please, step right inside. The boy is out back.”

I cringe when he calls Peeta’s son “the boy” but they’re both so excited to have us there that they probably wouldn’t notice if I had gotten sick. They lead us through a narrow hallway to a small but homely kitchen where they offer us to sit down at the table. Peeta takes a seat and I reluctantly pull out the chair next to his, very clearly sensing that he doesn’t want me quite so close.

“When we found out that _you_ were the biological parents we were just so taken aback!” twitters Alexandria and actually fans herself with her hand. She sits down opposite Peeta. “We always knew he was a special child but we had no idea he was _that_ special. Of course we were both overwhelmed with the great honour. We haven’t even told our friends yet because we thought they might not believe us. I mean, who would?”

“You had no idea the parents were victors?” asks Peeta sceptically.

“Oh we knew he was the child of a victor” says Alexandria enthusiastically. “They told us that. They just never told us _who_ the parents were.”

“We assumed it was Finnick Odair” explains Sulla. “Coffee?” He goes to get the pot without waiting for an answer.

“Oh yes, we talked about it extensively when we found out we were getting the child of a victor” continues Alexandria. “We were convinced it was Finnick Odair. He bedded more women, and probably more men, than anybody else. Really, it was only a matter of time before he got somebody pregnant. We figured it was some young Capitol girl he had seduced, whose parents wouldn’t allow her to keep the baby.”

“We thought he probably refused to marry her when he found out” adds Sulla and pours coffee into my cup. “He was such an attractive man but he did not have the ability to stay by one person.” He smiles lovingly at his wife. “Not everyone is made for that kind of devotion.”

I’m boiling with anger and feeling very insulted on Finnick’s behalf. They talk about their theories as if there’s a good chance they’re on to something even though they know their son is not Finnick’s. What’s more is they’re talking about him without knowing him at all and the picture they paint could not be farther from the truth. I know they had no reason to think otherwise when they adopted the baby but Finnick revealed everything on camera during the war and when I think of his love for Annie Cresta it infuriates me to hear them simplify him and judge him that way.

“We did say to each other that he looks a bit like Peeta Mellark” claims Alexandria. “Didn’t we, Sulla? When he grew a little older.”

“We did” nods Sulla enthusiastically and sits down opposite me, though I get the feeling that it’s at least partially an after-construction.

From the corner of my eye I can see how difficult this all is to Peeta. Sulla and Alexandria seem like nice enough people but they have the same kind of mindless attitude that my prep team used to have, going on and on about things that shouldn’t matter while being amazingly ignorant of how the things they say are perceived by the people listening.

“When we got the call and we found out our boy was actually the son of the star-crossed lovers from District 12...” says Alexandria and stops herself when she begins to well up with emotion. Her hand goes to her heart and she looks at us both as if she’s so moved that we should be moved as well. “We just couldn’t believe it.”

“We couldn’t imagine why you would have given a child away for adoption” says Sulla and to his credit there’s something in his tone of voice that reveals that he knows what a challenge it is to give your baby away.

“The Capitol rigged the reapings so that children of victors would end up in the arena” I say matter-of-factly. “Our children would have been born as tributes.”

This seems to be news to the Applebees who share a startled look. Then Alexandria smiles and says something that makes me want to slap her.

“It would have been an honour for him.”

“No” Peeta and I say in unison.

“It wouldn’t have been” I add.

“Well lucky us” says Alexandria. “Not only did we get a wonderful son in his own right. We got to be the parents of Katniss and Peeta’s baby.”

“Yeah, lucky you” says Peeta and I can’t tell if he’s serious or sarcastic.

“Have you gotten any information about him over the years?” asks Sulla.

“None” I say, glancing nervously at Peeta, wondering if he will reveal that he didn’t know about his son until a little over a week ago.

“We don’t even know his name” says Peeta softly.

“Victor” says Sulla gently. “We thought it was fitting.”

“Even more after we learned that _both_ parents were victors” coos Alexandria.

“Yes” says Peeta coldly. “His mother and father both murdered innocent children in the arena. Something for him to take pride in.”

I barely hear him. Victor. Our son’s name is Victor. I don’t know what I was expecting – something that ends with “us” probably. Leave it to Capitol parents to choose such a name for the baby they adopted from Hunger Games victors. They probably feel it’s an homage but I would have preferred almost any other name in the world. I wanted my child to be spared from the Games and now I know he carries a name that to Capitol citizens means glory and honour but to the people from the districts have a much more negative ring to it.

“I want to see him” says Peeta. “That’s what I came here to do.”

“Yes, of course” says Alexandria and for the first time I detect a hint of nervousness in her voice. “As I said he’s out back. My sister is with him. We...” She shares a look with her husband. “If you don’t mind we’d rather you saw him one at a time. We’re a little afraid it might overwhelm him to meet you both at once.”

“We didn’t plan on telling him he’s adopted” says Sulla and I can tell it’s a difficult topic for him. “We changed our minds when we got the call. He... He should know. He has a right to know. We’re not sure he understands fully but... You don’t have to pretend to be friends of the family or anything like that. He knows his biological mother and father are coming to visit him today. He’s ready to meet you both.”

“I’ll go first” says Peeta. “If that’s okay with you, Katniss.”

“Sure” I say, my mouth suddenly feeling dry. On an impulse I turn to Alexandria and Sulla. “Is it okay if I go with him outside, just for a second? Just to get a look? I promise I won’t get close. I won’t speak to him. I just want to get a first look at him.”

I can’t explain why but it feels like if I don’t get that first look of my boy within the next few minutes all my courage and willpower will wash away and I won’t be brave enough to face my demons, or my child. Coming face to face with my baby is something I never imagined would happen and I’m still not sure it’s something I want. What I _truly_ want is to hold that six year-old boy in my arms and never ever let him go but I can’t have that luxury. In lieu of that I would like to do everything I can to make the lack of him in my life easier, which most certainly doesn’t entail getting to see him.

“I suppose that would be okay” says Alexandria hesitantly in response to my request.

“She’s his mother” says Peeta sharply. “If she wants to come outside and have a look at him she will do just that.”

His sudden support surprises me. I try not to linger at any thoughts about what it could mean and when Sulla leads us through the small house towards the back yard my mind goes back to dreading the moment that’s about to come. The living room leads to a small deck with a flight of stairs connecting it to the lawn below. Because the house is on a small hill and the lawn is down the slope we can’t see the little boy who’s playing with his aunt. As we approach it another feeling rises to the surface and eclipses all others. Longing. Oh God how I’ve longed for this moment. My baby is right there on the other side of that door. I will get to see him and smell him and maybe even hold him. I’m both frightened and nervous and excited, all at the same time.

Sulla opens the door and holds it up for us.

“Katniss when you’ve seen him you can come inside with me and sit down” he says softly. “I’m sure you have a million questions. We’ll try and answer as many of them as we can.”

I realize I like this man. For a Capitol citizen he’s not quite so vain and shallow. He seems to deeply understand the importance of all of this to us and instinctively I feel that my son has a very good adoptive father. The mother I’m not as sure about but at least Sulla seems genuinely decent, and for all I know Alexandria’s behaviour is her way of trying to disguise how difficult this must be for them. They never expected the biological parents to come back into the picture and it must be very unsettling to suddenly have us here, becoming real figures in the child's life.

We walk out on the deck and I reach out and grab Peeta’s arm. It’s an instinct, something I do to find strength, and for a second he allows my hand to stay. Maybe he doesn’t even feel it. His eyes are staring at the six year-old boy down on the lawn, just like mine are.

Sulla calls his name and the boy looks up at us. He’s a bit too far away for me to see him clearly but my heart melts nonetheless. It’s almost like I can’t breathe. He’s here, just a few yards away. My child. Finally. This is the person I have longed for so badly and worried about every moment of my life since his conception.

I stand there silently like an idiot while Alexandria’s sister leaves the boy and walks up the steps, passing by us to go indoors. Peeta begins to walk slowly down the steps and I follow even though I probably shouldn’t yet. I stop at the bottom and watch as Peeta approaches our son. The little child says nothing, looking at us with wide eyes. He’s got a cap turned backwards on his head, a thick mitt on one hand and a white and red ball in the other. Now that I’m closer to him I can see his features better and President Snow was right. He looks like his father.

The hair on his little head is ashen and curly, sticking out from underneath his cap. His eyes seem to have the shape of mine more than Peeta’s but the colour is blue, I can see that from where I’m standing. He’s got his father’s jaw and I think that’s Peeta’s mouth as well but the nose looks to be mine, as does the serious expression on his face. It looks like the look on my face in that drawing Peeta made of me years ago.

Slowly, reverently, Peeta sinks to his knees to get on level with the child.

“Hello” he says.

“Hi” says the boy. The sound of his voice sends pleasant chills down my spine and almost makes my eyes water.

“My name is Peeta.”

“Victor” mumbles the child in reply.

“That’s Katniss” says Peeta in a friendly tone and nods in my direction. I’m unable to formulate a response and so I just watch the two of them. “What do you have there in your hand?”

“Mitt.”

“A mitt, huh? Someone throws the ball and you catch it? I grew up with two brothers; we used to do that all the time.”

Reluctantly I turn around and walk back up the steps. I want to stay but I’m afraid that Sulla will come and get me if I do and besides, Peeta deserves the chance to spend some time alone with our son. He was the one who found him, after all, and the one who needs closure. Whatever closure I had feels like it’s gone out the window now and I don’t know yet if I’m happy that I saw Victor or not, or even learned his name. Time will tell how I feel after I’ve gotten the chance to speak to him privately.

I sit down on the living room couch with Sulla and Alexandria sitting opposite me. The truth is I have so many questions that I don’t even know where to start and I end up being unable to ask a single one. I want to know everything there is to know about him. When he spoke his first word, how old he was when he got his first tooth, what his favorite story is, how many times he’s scraped his knees, when he’s been sick. I wish I could know if he’s ever dreamt of me – if subconsciously he remembers that there was another woman at some point. I suppose I hope that’s not how it is. The adoption left a gaping hole in my heart, now it’s left one in Peeta’s; if Victor has one too then it’s too much to bear.

Alexandria keeps nervously chatting, clearly unsure of how to act around me. I’m not behaving like the smiling, lovesick girl she used to see on TV nor am I acting like the determined survivor I was in the arena or the soldier who stepped into the streets of the Capitol in her mockingjay costume. Most of what she says is of little consequence and I soon begin to look out the window, wishing I could see Peeta and Victor from this angle.

After thirty minutes Sulla suggests that I go outside and send Peeta back in. I swallow and get up from the couch. How can I be so conflicted about what’s about to happen? I want to see Victor so much it hurts but I’m also very nervous about it. What if he doesn’t like me? What if we have nothing to talk about? He’s six years old and I haven’t got the faintest idea of his likes and dislikes and it doesn’t occur to me until now that I should have spent the past half hour asking his adoptive parents about that. When I walk outside and start to descend the stairs I begin to wonder what Peeta will feel when he has to go back inside. He doesn’t seem to have had any nervous feelings about meeting our son.

“Hey” I say when I reach the grass, my voice not really holding.

I wish I hadn’t said anything. I should have just stood there until they noticed me. They were playing together when I got outside, Peeta throwing the ball and Victor running to catch it, then running back to Peeta through laughter and excited cries. I shouldn’t have interrupted them. I don’t know how Peeta does it but it seems that Victor is already fond of him.

When Peeta looks up at me he’s got a happy smile on his face that fades when our eyes meet. It hurts my heart to see it. Seeing him happy again was amazing, even if it was only for a moment. How I hate being the one who makes that happiness go away.

“Time’s up?” he asks sadly.

“Yeah” I nod.

He controls his disappointment and kneels in front of Victor who grins and runs his hair through Peeta’s locks, so similar to his own.

“I have to go inside now” says Peeta. “Katniss is going to talk to you for a while. Ask her to throw the ball for you. She’s got a good arm.”

Victor says something to him but his voice is so low I can’t hear him. Peeta smiles, ruffles the boy’s hair and stands back up. He walks past me without giving me a look, stopping only to take one more look at his son before he goes up the stairs with heavy steps. Slowly I walk over to my child and taking a lead from Peeta I kneel in front of him.

“Hi” I say lamely. “My name is Katniss.”

“Are you my mother?” asks Victor in the same skeptic tone a child might use when asking if milk really does come from cows.

“Yes” I answer. The sound of my child speaking in a Capitol accent creeps me out and I can almost understand Peeta’s stance on the whole thing.

“You don’t look much like my mother.”

“Well, I… I’m a different kind of mother.”

“I’ve seen you on TV. You’re the mockinnay.”

Trepidation burns in my stomach. What do they let him watch? Has he seen me on news reports from the war? God, what must he think of me if he knows about my role in the revolution? I was the figurehead of the movement that overthrew his whole way of life.

“That was a long time ago” I tell him. “Most of the time I’m just a normal person.”

“Can you fly?”

“No.”

“Oh.” He looks disappointed. He frowns and wrinkles his nose in an expression that is so much that of Ryean that it almost floors me. How can it be that this little boy makes the same face as an uncle he’s never even met? Peeta never makes that face.

I want to get closer to him. He’s about six feet away from me and every bone in my body screams that I should cross that distance between us and touch him. I know it’s a bad idea so I refrain. Peeta touched him but that was after they had been playing together for a while and Peeta is both more physical in that sense than I am and he’s better with children and can make them feel at ease while I always seem to make them nervous. Victor’s frown deepens when he notices the way I’m looking at him but thankfully he doesn’t pull away. Without caring how he must perceive it I allow myself to stare at his features and take it all in. Those little hands, now covered with scrapes and dirt, once squeezed my breast and that sweet mouth once nursed from me. Did he look the same back then? This much like Peeta? Or was he just a baby that day, features difficult to make out? Now that I’m closer to him I see that he doesn’t look quite so much like Peeta as I originally felt. The shape of his face is mine. His eyes may be blue but aside from that they are mine. Their shape, the eyelashes, even the eyebrows. Or at least I assume that they’re mine because they’re so decidedly not like Peeta’s.

“Look how beautiful you are” I breathe, which seems to take him by surprise.

“I have curly hair” he answers. “Nobody else I’ve seen has curly hair.”

“Peeta does” I answer.

He grins and nods and it makes me smile at him in return. It’s impossible not to return that smile, the one that seems so much like my own. The smile on my face seems to relax him and I almost don’t dare to breathe when he walks up to me, reaches out his little hand and grabs the braid that hangs down over my left shoulder.

“You have funny hair” he announces.

“The braid?” I ask.

“Why do you wear it that way?”

“It keeps the hair away from my face.”

His fingers feel the braid and his eyes studies it with a look of concentration that brings to mind the way Peeta looks when he’s painting. I try not to think of the times when Peeta used to touch my hair as an innocent gesture of affection. My eyes are locked on my son’s face and I realize I’m fighting not to cry. I don’t want to cry right now. I want to enjoy every single second I am with him. Who knows if I will ever get to see him again?

“I’ve missed you” I tell him in a whisper that I don’t think he hears.

For several minutes he studies my hair with a concentrated expression on his face, like it’s a math problem or a tricky question. Then he lets the braid go and just shrugs as if he’s lost all interest in it. It makes me laugh a little, which seems strange to him but he just shrugs again.

“Tell me” I hear myself saying. “What is your favorite thing to do in the afternoons?”

“I don’t know” shrugs Victor. Then he grins again. “Wanna see what I can do?”

“Sure” I say, a little bit surprised by the sudden change of tone.

He darts off and runs around the lawn. I’m not sure what it is he wants to show me – maybe just his ability to run around a lawn. It doesn’t really matter. The smile on my face is genuine and the laughter that bubbles up is happy. He suddenly stops, then runs back towards me and does a mildly successful attempt at a cartwheel. Then he holds out both arms as if to say “ta-daa”. I give him a round of applause and he takes it as encouragement to keep going. For the next fifteen minutes or so the six year old boy runs all over the grass and showcases every skill in his arsenal. I think to myself that he is agile and can probably learn to be a good hunter. Not that he’ll ever get the chance, living in the suburbs of the Capitol.

Finally he returns to where I’m by now sitting, his little chest heaving as he pants and tries to catch his breath.

“You’re good” I tell him.

“I know!”

His confidence makes me laugh. He sits down next to me and looks up at me with his blue eyes. He seems unsure of what to think of me but at least he’s not terrified. I wish he would sit just a little closer so that I could get to touch him.

Something crawls on my right hand and look down to see a ladybug. I lift up my hand and hold it out to him as an excuse to initiate physical contact. Victor grabs my hand with both of his and once more I’m finding it hard to breathe. His fingers are soft and a little wet after having been in the grass. He’s pinching me a little but I don’t mind. His face leans forward to get a closer look of the ladybug but the insect doesn’t want to be that close and flies away. Victor watches it go and I stare longingly at his wide-eyed face and hope he’ll never remember to let go of my hand.

“What was that?” he asks.

“A ladybug.”

“Are there more?”

“Probably.”

He lets go of me and gets up on his feet and then he’s off looking for more ladybugs. I watch him while he searches, wishing I could think of something to say to make him come sit down with me. I long so terribly to have him sit on my lap and get to wrap my arms around him. What would that feel like? If I got to bury my nose in his hair what would it smell like? Would it feel like Peeta’s? Smell like Peeta’s? What is it like to have Victor’s small arms wrapped around my neck and his face nuzzled at the crook of my neck?

My thoughts are interrupted when I hear footsteps behind me and I look over my shoulder to see Sulla coming down the stairs. I half expected Peeta to be with him but he’s not. Fighting to contain my disappointment that my thirty minutes are over I rise to my feet and feebly try to brush the grass off my pants.

“It’s time for Victor to take a nap” says Sulla.

“Okay” I say, wishing I could get to stay and read him a story, or something else motherly. “I understand.”

Victor looks up and rushes over to his adoptive father, letting Sulla lift him high in the air. The child squeals with delight and happily wraps his arms and legs around Sulla to be carried indoors. I’m so jealous of the touch that I can barely speak. The thirty minutes I just spent with my son have been in some ways both the best and the worst of my life and now awaits only a future where I’ll never get to see him again. It’s not likely I’ll be able to make it back to the Capitol and Alexandria and Sulla have no reason to bring him to District 12.

Silently and with a heavy heart I follow Sulla and Victor up the stairs and back inside the house. Sulla sets Victor down on the floor and he runs over to his mother and wraps his arms around her legs. Peeta stands next to them and looks at his boy with a kind of affection I’ve never seen on his face before. He would have been a really good father if he had only been given the chance. He still can be someday, if he finds a woman to have children with.

We walk together to the door and Peeta thanks Sulla and Alexandria for having us over and letting us meet with Victor. He then kneels and smiles at his son.

“It was wonderful to meet you” he says.

Victor, suddenly shy, hides his face against his mother’s leg. Peeta reaches out his hand and tousles the blonde curls on the boy’s head and this makes the child turn to look at him with a smile on his face. There’s a moment of hesitation. Neither Peeta nor I want to leave but it’s clear that Alexandria and Sulla feel that our visit with Victor is over and that the child is once again all theirs. Peeta then leans in and plants a kiss on our son’s forehead. I wish so desperately that I could do the same but somehow I know Victor won’t accept it from me. He may have found me not scary but he didn’t warm up to me the way he did with Peeta.

“I’ll see you soon” says Peeta.

“Bye” says Victor.

“Goodbye sweetheart” I manage.

Sulla opens the door and I get the feeling we’re being ushered out. I reach out and grab Peeta’s arm, knowing that I might not be able to walk out of this house and for the second time walk out of my child’s life unless I get to steady myself on him. The car is still waiting for us and we step outside but both of us turn to look at Victor for as long as we possibly can. Sulla bids us farewell and then closes the door. Both Peeta and I let out a sigh and he pulls his arm away from mine. Then we walk back to the car and get inside, neither of us saying a word, both of us lost in our own thoughts.

The feeling that overcomes me when I lean back against the black leather seats of the car is one of wonder and of overwhelming sadness. I saw him. I heard him. I spoke with him. I even got to touch him, if only just a little. My son has looked me in the eye, acknowledged my existence and breathed the same air as me for half an hour. When I was with him it was like no time at all had passed between the moment he was taken from me and the moment we were reunited. Having to do it all again seems impossible. I can’t let him leave my life. I have to have him near or I will lose my mind.

I look over at Peeta. He’s looking out the window with a serene smile on his face. I wish I knew what he was thinking. I’m glad we did this together. If the last thing we do together is visit our child then we couldn’t have chosen anything better.

 

 

The car pulls up to the hotel and we step out. My emotions are still running wild and I’ve gone back and forth between euphoria and misery at least half a dozen times during the drive back. I wish now that I had asked for something of Victor’s. A stuffed animal he no longer uses, an old shirt he’s grown out of or, best of all, a blanket. It would have been something to sustain me for the time that is to come. As it is I have nothing but memories. The skin on my right hand seems to be tingling where he touched me and part of me wishes I could go forever without washing that hand.

“Katniss! Peeta!”

I’m taken out of my daydreams by the voice of a stranger in the crowd. Someone has recognized us as we walk from the car to the hotel.

“Hey!” calls Peeta in response. He waves his hand and smiles widely.

My own face turns into a friendly smile. It’s reflex by now, something I just do when voices in the Capitol shout for my name on the streets. The smile vanishes the instant we’re indoors and walking towards the elevators. I know what this means. If I’ve been recognized I’m going to be found out by the government and sent right back to Twelve, possibly with a punishment of some kind. I don’t care how they want to punish me, being apart from my son is worse than anything Paylor could do to me, but I care about having to leave so soon. I want to stay in the Capitol where I’m at least near Victor.

“We’re going to have to go back home” I mumble as we board the elevator.

“We?” Peeta sounds genuinely surprised. “Did you come here with someone?”

“What? No. No, I meant...”

“You thought I would be leaving now, too? I’m not.”

“I don’t understand” I say. “What’s left here to do? Unlike me you’re free to visit the Capitol whenever you choose. You can come and see him at any time.”

The elevator stops on the fifth floor and the doors open.

“I’m not satisfied with visits every now and then” says Peeta. “I want him, Katniss.”

We’re on my floor. I’m supposed to get off but I can’t move a muscle. I stare at Peeta, hoping he’s not saying what I think he’s saying.

“Peeta you’re not telling me...”

“I already got a lawyer. I’m getting my son back. Alexandria and Sulla are good enough people but I have a right to my son and I don’t want him raised here. At least not by people like that.” The doors close and we begin to move up to the seventh floor. “You missed your floor.”

I slam my hand on the button that stops the elevator.

“Damn you, Peeta! You can’t do that!”

Calmly he moves my hand away from the button and presses number seven, setting the elevator back into motion.

“I can. And I will. Getting just the one meeting with him might be enough for you but that child belongs with me and he will be back with me.”

The doors open on his floor and he steps off. I follow him, ignoring the look he gives me, and walk inside his hotel room before he can close the door between us. He gives me an exasperated look and runs a hand through his hair.

“Don’t do this to me, Katniss” he says. “Don’t you dare tell me what I can and cannot do. You made your choice and now I’m making mine.”

“This is not about you and what you want” I tell him. “Victor knows only those two people to be his parents. They were the ones who took care of him as a baby, who are raising him, who have been caring for him when he’s been sick and sad and scared. They’ve been there for all his happy memories and all important things that have happened in his life. How can you be so selfish as to try and take him away from that?”

If I expected him to take offense to being called selfish I was wrong. His blue eyes turn sad when the word passes over my lips and while it hurts me a little to see it it’s most of all a relief.

“You really think it would be selfish?” he asks.

“I do. I had the chance to go and find him and bring him home when the Capitol fell but I didn’t. I had no right to. It doesn’t matter how much we want him because he wants to stay with Alexandria and Sulla.”

“Except you don’t know that.”

“Yes I do. He’s six years old. He wants his parents, the ones he knows to be his mother and father. He doesn’t want us.”

“You don’t know that” repeats Peeta. “You want to believe that’s true because it means you never have to make another choice. I can’t live with that. If nothing else I’m going to make damn sure I know he can’t be happy with me before I give up hope. He’s the only family I’ve got.”

“You don’t have him, Peeta” I say, seeing the words hit him like a slap in the face. “Legally speaking you can never have him, either, because the adoption stands. I’m so sorry and I wish things were different but Victor is not your family. He can’t replace your father or Ryean or Scotti.”

“Who said anything about replacement? I want _him_ and I _will_ try my damndest to get him. You can’t stop me. You can’t even be in the Capitol anymore. Go back to Twelve and do whatever it is you do to make your life have some form of meaning. The meaning of my life is that little boy and nothing will stop me from being a real father to him.”

“Being a real father sometimes means letting go” I say softly. “Parents do what is best for the child, not for themselves.”

“What’s best for my son is not to be raised in the Capitol and turned into someone like them” replies Peeta. “Go home, Katniss.”

“ _Please_ ” I beg. “Please, Peeta. Don’t uproot his life. Don’t do that to him. He’s a precious little boy who’s already had his whole world uprooted once during the war. Let him have peace and stability in his life.”

“He’s six years old. Still young enough to adapt.” He walks over and opens the door, gesturing for me to leave.

“This isn’t you, Peeta” I plead. “Don’t let this change you.”

“You can’t change my mind so don’t bother trying.”

He’s right. I can tell by the look in his eyes. Nobody can change his mind when he has that expression on his face, certainly not me after all that’s happened. I can only hope he will take reason on his own. Without looking at him I walk out the door and head back to the elevator. When I reach my own room I throw myself down on the bed and stare at the wall for hours, unable to move a muscle, trying to find something to cling to in this mess of emotions. Eventually I fall asleep and my dreams are haunted by terrible nightmares. When I wake up there's nobody there to comfort me and I try my best not to think of how there never will be again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another chapter that went through a number of re-writes. In the end I think it turned out okay. I'm working on getting the next chapter ready for posting so hopefully it won't be too long before the next update.  
> Thanks for reading!


	16. Chapter 16

I arrive back in District 12 on a rainy Tuesday afternoon. Paylor had me expelled from the Capitol and brought back to Twelve on a small train that was anything but comfortable but at least I wasn’t officially punished for breaking my confinement. The train ride home felt a lot like the one I once took back from the Capitol after having given birth, only now there was no Gale to keep me company and no family waiting to greet me back home.

Haymitch appears on the train station to welcome me. I don’t know how he found out I was coming. Perhaps somebody from the Capitol called him and chewed him out for not keeping a closer eye on me. Either way I’m happy to see him. He doesn’t say anything, just holds out his umbrella and ushers me inside a waiting taxi.

We sit down together in front of the fireplace in my house. Haymitch has heated up stew from Greasy Sae and we eat in silence. I’m glad he’s here because I don’t think I can face solitude just yet but I know I can’t be good company at present. All I can think about is Peeta and Victor and what will happen to them now. On the train I felt better about Peeta’s quest to claim his son because I remembered that the adoption could not be revoked. It doesn’t matter how he tries, he won’t be able to take the boy from his parents. What worries me is that the media might hear about the child Peeta Mellark wants to take back to District 12 and that the whole story might become public knowledge.

“How was it?” asks Haymitch finally. “Seeing your kid.”

A smile plays on my lips for a brief moment.

“Amazing.”

Haymitch nods.

“The boy thought so, too.”

I look over at him.

“You talked to Peeta?”

“He calls me every two or three days.”

I stare down at the mug of hot tea in my hands.

“So you know what he plans to do?”

“Get the child back? Yeah. I’m not sure it’s wise but it’s plain to see there’s no talking him out of it. Either way, who am I to say what’s right?”

“It’s wrong, Haymitch. Whatever Peeta feels, Victor’s wellbeing comes first.”

“There seems to be a difference of opinion between the pair of you as to what best serves the child’s wellbeing.”

“Doesn’t matter anyway” I mutter and blow on the steaming hot liquid. “The terms of the adoption were crystal clear. We can’t have our baby back. All Peeta will succeed in doing is expose Victor’s existence to the rest of Panem and turn his life into a media circus.”

“From what the boy told me the whole adoption thing was pretty open-and-shut.”

“I assume it would be” I say and set the mug down on the coffee table so the tea can cool off a bit before I drink it.

“Not the way you think, sweetheart.”

I give him a worried look.

“What do you mean by that? There’s only one way it could end. The adoption was solid; it left no wiggle room and no uncertainties. We can’t have our child back.”

“ _You_ can’t” says Haymitch slowly, studying my face as if he expects that I will have a complete meltdown.

“Neither of us can!” I exclaim.

“You’re forgetting that Peeta never signed any adoption papers.”

“So? That doesn’t matter. What’s done is done.”

“The listed father is Gale Hawthorne. Peeta asked for a DNA test to prove his paternity. The results won’t be back for another week but once they’re in it’s a done deal.” I stare at him with my mouth gaping and he leans forward and spells it out for me like I’m a four year-old. “The child’s biological father didn’t agree to the adoption, therefore the process is invalid. It never held legal power. Your parental rights have still been signed away but not his. He will be the kid’s legal father when the tests come back and he will be free to do as he likes.”

“No” I whisper, my face ghostly white. “No. He can’t.” I fumble to get on my feet and untangle myself from the blanket I’m wrapped in. “I won’t permit it.”

“Not for you to permit” Haymitch points out.

“I did _not_ make that sacrifice six years ago so my baby could become the hottest news in all of Panem. I did not set aside my own desperate longing to have him back after the war so Peeta can go and destroy my son’s life now!” I yell hysterically.

“So what do you plan to do?” asks Haymitch, unmoved by my urgency. “You can’t go back to the Capitol. Even if you could, the law is the law. Moreover, if you ever want to be on good terms with your ex-husband again you can’t get in his way now.”

“I love Peeta but if I have to choose between having him in my life and keeping Victor safe and happy then I choose the latter, no matter how much it hurts me to further alienate Peeta. I can endure anything I have to endure except for anything bad happening to my son.” Images of Rue and Prim flash before my eyes. “I have to protect him. I cannot fail in protecting him. Even if it means having Peeta despise me for the rest of my life.”

“I understand but I see the boy’s point. The Capitol is a vile and hateful place, vapid and shallow and a factory where people turn into mindless drones who only care about colors and the shape of their eyebrows and puking at parties so they can eat more.”

“I hate that place as much as you do but what you just described was before the war.”

“People’s values don’t change overnight just because there is a war” argues Haymitch. “Either way, your son is still in the hands of people who thought the Hunger Games were the most fun event all year. They probably cheered when those fireballs came at you and when the boy from Two stabbed Peeta in the leg. I know you want to protect your kid but Peeta is trying to do the same.”

“They’re Victor’s _parents_ ” I say sadly, sinking down on the floor again. I wrap the blanket around myself and try to stop myself from shivering. “They’re not negligent. From what I saw they’re okay people and they love him. He loves them. My son is not an object to play tug-o-war with.”

“You won’t be happy if Peeta brings him to Twelve and he grows up in the house three doors away from yours?” asks Haymitch gently.

I pause for a moment, my eyes drifting to the fireplace. I’m unable to stop the daydream that flashes through my mind, one as unobtainable and unrealistic as wishing for Prim and my father to be alive again. Peeta and Victor and me, together by the fireplace in a quiet, private toasting ceremony. A real family. The image is gone as quickly as it came and I look back up at Haymitch.

“The selfish part of me would be ecstatic” I tell him. “The mother in me would never be able to forgive Peeta for taking him from his home.”

“Even if the kid is happy here?”

“Not as long as he misses his adoptive parents.”

“Well, it’s tough luck, then” says Haymitch with sympathy and leans back on the couch. “Peeta is determined. He really wants his son.”

“He doesn’t even _know_ his son” I point out, a hint of desperation in my voice.

Haymitch says nothing about that but it stays on my mind for the rest of the evening. Peeta only knows that the child is his son by blood but he has no idea what he’s really like. Therefore he can’t really claim he wants his son back because he _loves_ him. Can he? At the most he loves the _idea_ of him. Then again this is Peeta we’re talking about; the boy who was convinced he loved me after only having seen me from a distance and heard me sing at music assembly. The man who’s desperately been longing for a family since the one he was born into got killed.

When we’ve been sitting in complete silence for almost two hours Haymitch gets up and announces that he’s leaving.

"Will you be okay?” he asks.

“Haymitch” I say. “Is Peeta just trying to win back the time he lost by taking his son back? Is it some act of spite, some form of… I don’t know… Has he really thought if he _should_ do this and not just whether or not he has the legal _right_ to do this?”

“I don’t know” admits Haymitch. “I will say this… I’ve never known him to make serious life decisions without thinking it through. Nor have I ever known him to charge ahead without giving any thought to what is best for the people he loves. I don’t think he would fight to have his son if he didn’t think it was in the boy’s best interest as well as his own.”

“So you think he’s right to do this?”

“I think Peeta _believes_ it is what’s best for his son. Whether or not he’s right, well, that’s not really for me to say.”

He asks again if I’ll be okay and I nod my head even though I doubt I ever will be okay again. After he leaves I sit by the fireplace, staring into the flames for hours, wondering how I managed to screw things up so badly. It never occurred to me that Gale’s signature in the place of Peeta’s on the adoption forms would leave an open door for Peeta to someday reclaim his child. Did Snow figure this out? Was that the reason why he let me know he knew who the real father was yet didn’t reveal the truth to Peeta? How he must have smiled at the thought of my son’s life one day being torn to pieces all because of me and not because of any direct action on Snow’s own part.

I don’t know how to live with this. All I know is that I have no other choice than to try.

 

 

What follows is months of pain and worry that seem to engulf me. I miss Peeta every waking moment and I miss Victor even more, though in a different way. I never got to have him as part of my everyday life and thus his absence isn’t noticeable in my daily routines the way Peeta’s is. Victor’s absence is more of a constant ache and longing, one I’ve had for six years now but never this intense. Now there’s a face, a voice, a personality to long for. Having to miss them both makes it hard to know how to cope with all of it. I thought Peeta would be coming home to Twelve as soon as he got the legal right to take Victor with him but for whatever reason he stays in the Capitol. I don’t even know if something happened to make his whole pursuit fall through or if he changed his mind or if something else is standing in his way. Haymitch probably knows but if he does he never tells me and I don’t ask. I can’t do anything to stop Peeta so it doesn’t matter if I know how far he’s gotten.

The media soon catches on to our broken engagement and Peeta’s move to the Capitol, but thankfully not to Peeta's legal pursuit. For two months I can’t turn the TV on or open a newspaper without being treated to some news bulletin about us or articles that claim to be deep journalism even though no journalist has spoken to me in years and they clearly have no idea why we didn’t get remarried. The general consensus seems to be that it was the aftermath of the war and the emotional scars we carry that drove us apart but there is also one fraction that believes I am to blame and one that holds Peeta responsible. Those who pin it on me seem to think I cheated on him, possibly with Gale, which is ludicrous since Gale and I haven’t even been in the same district since our break-up. Those who blame Peeta generally hypothesize that he’s not as nice and charming as he appears to be and that once his good guy façade fell I left. Having my heartache splashed across the media as entertainment to the masses is just another cruelty that reminds me that no matter how far we get from the Games those of us who survived them will never be completely free nor will we ever belong solely to ourselves.

By and by the news reports on our failed relationship begin to trickle off and appear less frequently. I still see pictures of Peeta about once or twice a week, all of them taken by snap photographers and always with mere speculations as to what he’s up to. I see him out on the streets of the Capitol by himself, I see him with Effie Trinket, I see him with a beautiful dark skinned woman whom Haymitch informs me is his legal advisor. A couple of times I see him with Cinna and Portia and anger burns hot in me when I see those pictures. I don’t know what they know and because Paylor took away my right to have a telephone for twelve months Cinna hasn’t been able to call me and talk to me. Irrationally I feel he should be wholeheartedly in my corner on this, no matter what Peeta has told him. Cinna has always understood me even when I’ve behaved illogically and while Haymitch is closely connected to Peeta and me both Cinna is just mine. I’m annoyed by those pictures until I start to see ones of Peeta and Salvia Smith, who apparently lives in the Capitol now. I can’t think of any reason for him to spend time with her and jealousy burns hot inside of me at the thought that there might be something between them. He was her mentor, after all, even though she never became a part of our little family with Haymitch. Knowing that I don’t have any right to be jealous anymore doesn’t make the feeling any easier to deal with.

What I never see are pictures of Peeta and Victor. I don’t know how frequently he sees him or if maybe he’s even the one raising him now but obviously he doesn’t want our son exposed to the media and has done a very fine job of keeping everything hidden from the public eye. For that I am deeply thankful yet I know it can’t last. Sooner or later they will have to appear in public together if Peeta is to be his real father. Why doesn’t he just come back home to Twelve? They would be safer from the public eye here and not have to worry about having their faces in newspapers or TV shows all the time.

Time goes by slowly, too slowly. I haven’t got the energy to do much during the days and so I end up mostly sitting around the house trying to read or trying to learn how to properly cook and most of all trying not to remember better times that were. Haymitch shows up every now and then to make sure that I eat but I tell him to forget about me and focus on being there for Peeta. He snorts, calls me a martyr and ignores my request.

“Peeta knows I spend time with you” he tells me flatly. “He doesn’t care.”

“Then he’s an idiot.”

“Was he ever anything but?”

 

 

In early January Gale comes back to the district. Rory is getting married to some girl who moved here from District 8 and when Haymitch hears about it he goes to my mailbox and empties it of about two months worth of mail that I never bothered to collect. I didn’t see any point in it; I rarely get anything but newspapers and I don’t like reading them anymore. The pile he dumps at my feet does however include an invitation to the wedding and while I just shrug Haymitch decides for me that I’m going.

“You need to get out of this house before you get cabin fever” he tells me.

I shrug. I don’t know what cabin fever is but whatever it is I’m sure it’s better than coming face to face with my former best friend. Haymitch gives me a look full of disdain and calls me a coward which gets me angry enough that I agree to go just to prove him wrong. Haymitch agrees to accompany me and as soon as he’s out the door I regret relenting. I haven’t seen Rory since Gale left and I don’t feel like I’m part of their lives anymore. Since I last came back from the Capitol I’ve rarely even thought about them. They mattered to me once but nowadays I know they’re okay and it feels like they’re part of a past life. Vick and Posy must be grown now, or at least well on their way. I don’t know if I’ll even recognize them.

The following Saturday Rory Hawthorne and Honey Miller become Mr. and Mrs. Hawthorne and a group of twenty guests sing the wedding song for them and sit down to dinner in their new house three blocks away from the textile shop where Honey works. I wear a faked smile on my face but every moment is a challenge. It’s the first wedding I’ve been to other than my own and seeing Gale doesn’t feel good at all even though he looks well. I’ve seen him since he left, a couple of times on TV, but being face to face is different.

“Hey there, Catnip” he says when we first come face to face, attempting to sound casual but mostly sounding strained. “Did you move on from the baker to the drunkard?”

I think he’s just joking and trying to lighten the strange mood between us but I’m not in the mood for that kind of humor.

“Haymitch thought I needed a babysitter.”

Right on cue Haymitch comes up and grabs me by the arm, instructing me to go and congratulate the happy couple instead of loitering with the other guests. I’m not sure if he’s trying to keep me away from Gale because he thinks I might do something stupid or if he thinks that I don’t want to talk to Gale and is attempting to do me a favor. I follow him over to Rory and his blushing bride, offering my best wishes and feeling a desperate ache deep in my chest when I kiss them both on the cheek. This was supposed to be Peeta and me a few months ago and now there’s nothing. I hope Rory and Honey are happy and that they feel for one another what Peeta and I felt for each other. I’ve had such a brief taste of that kind of happiness and if these two can have a whole lifetime of it then that’s another reason why the rebellion was all worth it. They would have never even had a chance to meet if Snow’s regime still ruled over Panem.

We sit down to eat and I can’t help but smile at seeing the delicacies on the table. It’s not much by Capitol standards but if the revolution hadn’t happened Rory would have never been able to have anything half this fancy at his wedding. There’s fine butcher meat cooked with herbs we didn’t use to have access to in Twelve, a delicious bean soup, a salad full of fresh vegetables even though it’s winter and even a bakery cake. Mike must have baked it, if they didn’t get it from the other bakery in town. It doesn’t look half as good as Peeta’s creations but I’m thankful that he wasn’t the one who made it. Eating a wedding cake he made would be more than I can handle right now.

Hazelle comes up to me and squeezes my shoulder, urging me to come and visit more often. She says she’s really sad that things didn’t work out between Gale and me and I don’t know what to tell her so I stay quiet. Haymitch comes to my rescue by accidentally knocking over his glass of water which gives her something else to worry about for a few minutes.

I don’t get another chance to speak to Gale until after the toasting when everyone begins to leave to give the newlyweds some privacy. Gale comes up to me with my coat and I look over at Haymitch, signaling with my eyes that I don’t need him to watch over me. He shrugs, grabs a bottle of wine from the table and leaves. I turn to Gale and try to smile but I’m too tired of faking smiles today and it comes off more as a pained face.

“You look like hell” he offers, not very gentlemanlike.

“You look successful” I reply, wrapping my coat around me.

It’s the truth. Gale does look successful. He’s even more muscular now than he was before, his whole face radiates health and the expensive clothes he wears could only have been bought by someone who has risen to a prominent position. From what I see on TV he is a key figure now in Panem’s military and he’s a member of some council that also includes President Paylor, Plutarch Heavensbee and the secretary of military. I’m betting Gale has no problems finding girls to warm his bed at night but from what I’ve heard he’s not seeing anyone in particular. I don’t care anymore if he is dating someone special. In fact, I would embrace such news. I want him to be happy and to have what I could never give him.

We say goodbye to Hazelle, Vick and Posy and walk down the stairs that lead from Rory’s apartment to the street below. It’s cold and windy outside, not really the kind of weather for a walk, but without saying a word we both begin to slowly stroll in the direction of the Victors Village.

“How have you been?” I ask.

“Oh, you know” he says. “About as well as can be expected when the love of your life turns out not to love you and chooses to go back to another man instead of going with you when you have an amazing career opportunity.”

I glare at him, unsure of whether he's serious or not.

“That’s not quite how I remember events unfolding.”

He snorts.

“It’s pretty much the gist. I’ll never understand, Katniss. Why did you let me believe you had feelings for me when you clearly didn’t? Why did you lie to me? Or am I wrong about all of this and you truly did love me but the Capitol and the war messed with your mind to the point where you ran back to Peeta Mellark because you’ve been indoctrinated to believe that the two of you are star-crossed lovers and meant to be?”

“You’re bitter” I remark.

“Can you blame me?” He looks away for a second. “Why did you date me if you wanted to be with him?”

“I barely understand what my heart wants” I reply sourly. “I don’t expect you to have the faintest idea.” I laugh bitterly. “Besides, what does it matter? Peeta left and he’s never coming back. You must have seen the news.”

“Hard not to. Everybody gives a damn what the two of you do.” The harshly bitter tone in his voice surprises me a little. I suppose it’s my fault that he sounds like this now but honestly I don’t care. I can’t be responsible for his happiness and I’ve long since realized I never owed anyone to love them. “I admit I was confused. One minute they say you’re getting remarried and the next you’re broken up and the world is coming to an end.”

“He found out” I say, the words falling out of my mouth at lightning speed, as if I wouldn’t be able to say them otherwise.

Gale stops for a second, then continues to walk.

“How?”

“Doesn’t matter. He knows I gave his baby away for adoption. Turns out there are things he can’t forgive me for and that he _can_ fall out of love with me. So now I’ve lost them both. May that thought be a comfort to you when you think of how much you hate me for not being able to love you as more than a friend.”

“I don’t hate you” he says after a pause. The tone is genuine, friendly.

“Peeta does.”

“That was the risk you took.” He gives me yet another bitter look and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I would have loved you no matter what.”

“That doesn’t _matter_ ” I say with frustration. “I wanted to love you so much that I almost made myself believe that I did. In the end… it doesn’t matter. It’s not possible to decide who you love or to automatically fall for whoever deserves it the most.” I kick a ball of ice lying on the ground and feel like I could kick something ten times heavier just to vent my aggravation. “Besides, I don’t think you would have loved me too much either if you found out I had given your baby away.”

“I loved you when you were pregnant with someone else’s child. I loved you when you married the guy whose baby brought so much misery to you.”

“Gale…”

“All those years you were married to Peeta I stayed in love with you and I didn’t get over you even though it seemed hopeless. I think I can safely say I would love you no matter what.”

“All of that is nothing compared to the thing I did to Peeta. I never betrayed you the way I did him. I don’t blame Peeta for hating me now. Besides, you’re bitter and angry with me for not being honest with you about my feelings. How bitter and angry would you be if it turned out I hadn’t been honest with you about giving birth to your _child_?”

We walk in silence for a few minutes. I’m freezing and wish that we could walk faster so I could get inside my warm house but Gale seems set on a slow pace. To think that the two of us could ever come to a place like this, where a mere walk together automatically turns to icy conversation and unpleasant atmosphere.

“I heard you broke your confinement” he says, eyes fixated on the ground and not on me. “People seem divided between thinking you’re out of control and have not a smidgen of respect for authority and thinking that you were right to do so and that the confinement is ridiculous.”

His eyes land on me as if he’s expecting me to ask which group he belongs to but I don’t bite.

“I chased after Peeta to the Capitol.” A pained smile appears on my face for a second. “He found our child. We went for a visit. I probably shouldn’t have because all I see now when I close my eyes is my child’s face but…”

“Peeta didn’t return from the Capitol” notes Gale. “Let me guess. He took one look at his son and fell in love.”

“It’s impossible to do otherwise” I say, finding myself smiling again and this time more genuinely. “Victor is amazing. He’s sweet, he’s smart, he’s full of life and energy… He looks a little bit like me and a little bit more like Peeta and he was so excited to finally meet somebody else who had curly hair. The sound of his voice might be the most beautiful sound I ever heard.” My smile widens. “He called me his mother, Gale, even if he didn’t seem to grasp what it meant.”

“Victor?” echoes Gale with disdain. “They named him _Victor_? God, those Capitol people… They must be allergic to good taste, every last one of them.” He gives me a faint smile. “I’m glad you finally got to see him though. He was a beautiful baby. He’s probably a very cute little kid now.”

I’m tempted to tell Gale how Peeta wants to have his son back but I hold my tongue. Gale would likely understand my thoughts and concerns but it doesn’t seem wise to open up to him anymore. I also don’t want to give him any further ammunition against Peeta. He seems so bitter towards him and I can’t bear to hear him spew more negativity over the person I love. If he wants to hate someone he should hate me. Peeta is innocent in all of this.

A gush of cold wind hits us and makes me shiver harder and groan a little in the cold weather. I want to be back inside where it’s nice and warm but I don’t look forward to coming home to an empty house. Sometimes I think I miss Peeta the most in the evenings when I sit all alone in front of the fireplace with no one to talk to and no one to curl up next to. I like to pretend that he’s there when I close my eyes, sitting on the couch with a sketchpad, drawing pictures of animals or plants for the book. The illusion has to shatter as soon as I open my eyes and I probably shouldn’t subject myself to that kind of torment. Peeta may still be alive but in some ways I grieve him the way I grieved Prim and my father. It hurts bad to pretend that he’s still around and then have to face the reality that he is gone and he’s never coming back.

We reach the end of town and I stop. I don’t want Gale to walk me home. He stops too, wrapping his arms around himself. Instinctively I know that this is a deciding moment for our friendship. Either I find the right thing to say and we begin to rebuild what was once there, or I come up short and when we walk our separate ways I will have lost Gale for good as well.

“Take care” I say and slowly begin to walk towards the Victors Village. I can feel his eyes on me and so I wait until I’m out of sight before I quicken my pace. Once I reach the house I hurry inside and close the door shut behind me. The only thing I feel is relief.

 

 

On my birthday I finally decide I need to get back out in the woods. I’m horribly out of shape and it’s almost exhausting just to carry the bow around. I haven’t had much by way of fresh meat this winter; mostly it’s just been what Greasy Sae has brought me in a stew once a month. I barely even know what I’ve been eating this past year.

Being back out in the woods does feel good. I’ve missed the smells and the sounds of the forest. It’s about time I pull myself together and try to bring myself out of this deafening depression. There’s a limit to how long I can feel sorry for myself, which Haymitch has been kind enough to inform me at least a dozen times this spring. Getting back out into the woods is a good first step to putting my life back together again. Somehow I have to go on and find meaning. I’m too young to sit down and die and life has to be lived even if I can’t live it with Peeta and Victor.

Peeta’s words during our last meeting in the Capitol echo in my head as I sit down in mine and Gale’s old glade. I’m a survivor, he said. That’s what defines me. Perhaps he’s right about that. He made it sound like it could be a bad thing but I choose to see it as what enables me to carry on even when life brings me to the point where I don’t want to fight anymore.

I’m not out for very long that first day and to my disappointment I don’t manage to catch anything. The following morning I decide to go running in order to get back into physical shape after spending almost a full year doing nothing by way of exercise. I can’t run very far without losing my breath but I refuse to give up no matter how badly my feet ache and how sore my muscles are the next morning. After a couple of weeks I am able to run long enough distances without needing to stop and catch my breath and I begin to feel a little bit better about myself.

When I return to the woods a few weeks later I feel much more in control of my own body. I tie a few snares and then manage to shoot a wild turkey. Excited over my accomplishment I bring it to Haymitch and cook us dinner. He doesn’t say much and doesn’t seem to think it’s very impressive of me to have killed an animal but I’m not bothered by his lack of enthusiasm.

I stare at myself in the mirror the following morning and decide I’m tired of the appearance that stares back at me. On a spontaneous whim I lean forward and let my hair flow down towards the floor. I grab a pair of sharp scissors in one hand and gather my hair in the other and cut it straight off. When I straighten back up the hair is a lot shorter, reaching no further than my armpits, and the method I used to cut it has created layers that frame my face. I barely recognize myself in the mirror and I immediately regret my rash decision. Will this hair even stay in a braid?

The next thing I do is open the cabinet behind the bathroom mirror and grab the syringe that’s sitting there. It’s my last of the contraceptive syringes. I was supposed to use it about six months after what would have been our wedding but I never bothered to when I knew I wasn’t going to have sex. I still doubt I ever will experience that sort of pleasure again, especially since I know I don’t want to do it with anybody but Peeta, but I inject the substance into my arm nonetheless. The contraceptive keeps my periods light and far between and make my active life out in the woods much more convenient.

Summer goes by and little by little I begin to feel like my life is in order again. I don’t take real joy in anything and most days I have to remind myself to get out of bed and leave the house but at least it feels like I can survive and still be me.

This feeling lasts until late August when Victor’s seventh birthday comes around. This year more than any other I wish that I could contact him and wish him a happy birthday but even if I had gotten my phone back I still don’t have his phone number. I wonder if he would remember who I am if I called. On the eve of his birthday I sit on my bed and cry, wishing I at least had something that belonged to him that I could cling to on a day like today. I imagine that Peeta is there with him, celebrating, laughing and being happy. He probably made the cake. I almost smile as I imagine the kind of creativity he could bring to his son’s seventh birthday cake. I don’t begrudge him getting to be there with our son today. I just wish I could be with them both.

Three weeks later I am on the couch in the living room trying to care about the characters in an old book called “War and Peace” when a knock on the door calls for my attention. I put the book down on the coffee table without bothering to mark where I was reading, feeling quite sure I won’t bother to pick it up again anyway. I walk through the house and open the door.

There stands Peeta.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, next chapter will have more Peeta ;)  
> Thanks for reading!


	17. Chapter 17

Peeta.

The sight of him takes my breath away. It’s been so long and I was not expecting him at all. He looks good, too good, far too good to never be mine again. The friendly look is back in his blue eyes, his hair is long enough to curl again, he has a tan that makes his hair seem even more blonde and it looks like he’s put on muscle since we last saw each other. His whole appearance seems to say that he is content with his life and feeling good about himself. With a surge of longing I wonder if Victor is here in Twelve as well. Why else would he look so at ease?

“Hey Katniss” he says.

“Peeta” I say, surprised that my voice is working at all. “When did you get back to Twelve?”

“Last night.” He gives me a crooked grin. “I came alone. In case you were wondering.”

I nod and lean against the doorpost, trying not to be disappointed. I wish I could think of something to say to make him stay but then I realize he came to see me. Until he’s told me what’s on his mind I have some time to think of the right thing to say.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

“Sure” I say and step aside.

He walks past me and I note that he still smells the same as always. It puts a small smile on my face which is gone by the time I close the door. Peeta walks into the kitchen and I follow, nervously biting my nails.

I open my mouth to offer him to sit but he turns and looks at me and I close my mouth again. The look in his eyes tells me this is my old Peeta, the one who was always kind and understanding and not the cold and dismissive man I saw after the truth came out. That in itself is enough to make me feel relieved beyond words. At least what I did didn’t ruin him for good.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“No” I say. “No. It’s fine.”

“I came to apologize.”

He couldn’t have taken me more by surprise if he’d told me that our son is actually our daughter. I walk over and pull out a chair to sit, trying to wrap my head around this development.

“You… came to apologize… to me?”

“Yes.” He walks over to the table and stops beside me. “Katniss I was horrible to you last year. I had a right to be angry but it was way beyond just being mad. The things I said to you, the way I treated you… It’s been keeping me up at night. I had to come back to Twelve and tell you how bad I feel and how sorry I am. I want you to know that I’m deeply ashamed.”

“For what?” I ask. “Why are you apologizing? After what I did to you, I…”

“What you did was what you thought was best.” He rests his hands on the table and wrinkles his forehead, sporting the look he has when he’s having trouble putting his thoughts to words. It happens very rarely but when it does I know he’s talking about something very serious to him. “I was angry for a long time. More than angry. Anger I can live with but feeling betrayed is so much worse. I wanted to hate someone, wanted somebody to be guilty. No grey areas, a black and white situation where one side was all bad and the other… It wasn’t fair to you. Objectively I know that the situation isn’t black-and-white and that you did the best that you could. You became the one my anger focused on because I felt so betrayed by you and because the person who should take the blame is dead. Hating a living person is so much more rewarding than hating a ghost.”

“Snow never forced me to go through with the adoption” I point out mildly. “It wasn’t even his idea, it was mine. I had to convince him. He wasn’t the one who suggested that Gale should be listed as the father, either, that was all me. Nor did he make me lie to you all those years.”

“I know, and I’m not saying I’m over the lying, but he did put you in the position of having to protect your child from the Hunger Games. I still see it all much differently than you do and would not have made the choice that you made but all the same I had no right to treat you the way I did.”

He doesn’t know it but the things he’s saying to me now almost hurts me more than what he said a year ago. His kindness and ability to forgive me and see things from someone else’s perspective has always been a quality in him that I don’t know how to react to. His anger was easier to deal with because it was so justified and I had expected it if he was ever to find out the truth. The compassion that’s now in his voice is almost suffocating and it breaks my heart to hear him talk as if he wronged me and not the other way around.

“Sit, Peeta” I whisper and he obliges. “Please. Don’t apologize to me. I’m okay.”

He looks so unhappy and when he reaches out to take my hand in his I let him, feeling my skin come to life under the warmth of his hands. He looks down at the table and then up at me, his eyes begging me for forgiveness I keep telling him he doesn’t have to ask for.

“Once the anger began to ease up I realized how I had acted with you” he says. “I began to think what it must have been like for you. Sixteen years old, fresh out of the Games, forced into an engagement to a guy you didn’t want, the threats of Snow hanging over your head and on top of all of that you realized you were carrying a baby. The strength of mind that you must have needed to even come up with the plan you made… I can’t even imagine what you said to Snow to make him buy the story but it must have taken so much bravery.”

“Please” I say. “Don’t make me the heroine.”

“I’m just saying, I can’t imagine how much strength and guts it took for you to go through with this. To carry a baby for nine months and then give it up forever. Even if I don’t agree with the decision you made I believe you made the one you thought was best. It sure as hell wasn’t the easiest one. There wasn’t any amount of selfishness involved. You made the ultimate sacrifice to protect our baby’s life short of taking your own. I don’t see how anyone could ask for a better mother to his child. I just wish you had included me in your decision.”

“I’m so sorry I lied to you” I say.

“I wish you hadn’t. I really wish you hadn’t. I’m really trying to understand why you did it.” He pauses. “You were trying to protect me, weren’t you?” He says it in a tone that’s almost hopeful, as if that is the one reason for my lies that could be acceptable to him.

“I was trying to protect the baby” I tell him, avoiding his eyes so I don’t have to see his disappointment that I couldn’t confirm his theory. It’s tempting to let him believe I deceived him to protect him, which I’ve done in the past in other circumstances, but I can’t lie to him anymore. He deserves the truth in every way. “If you found out I knew it would be almost impossible to keep the secret safe and our son’s life depended on it.”

“If that’s the whole reason why you would have told me after Snow’s regime fell.”

“No, Peeta, the reason why I didn’t tell you at that point was because I couldn’t bear the thought of you hating me.”

I also didn’t want him to feel the same longing and pain that I did but I don’t think it’s fair to tell him anything that might make him view me in a more positive light than I deserve. He absorbs this new information but his hands stay on mine. Our eyes meet and his are still apologetic. I can only guess what mine are.

“I did hate you” he says. “With… a passion. I almost hated you as much as I used to love you. Now I feel ashamed. You were a sixteen year-old girl when it happened; you should have never been forced to make the kind of decisions you were faced with. The least I could have done was offer some bit of understanding.”

“I guarantee you that whatever shame you feel, whatever desire to make amends, it doesn’t come close to what I’ve felt every day since I first lied to you by omission.” I lean forward and he does the same, our faces ending up just about a foot from one another. “You asked me how I could have lived with you and kept this a secret and the truth is I don’t know. Do you remember how I pulled away from you before the wedding? I was consumed with sorrow over giving the baby away and so overcome with guilt that I could barely look at you. When we got married and we began to have sex all I could think of at first was how the first time it ended with a baby. I thought I had to keep the secret from you for the rest of our lives and I vowed to myself that I would try and make you happy.”

He smiles a little but it’s not a happy smile.

“You shouldn’t have done that. It made me think you were beginning to come around and… I know you had good intentions but it ended up being cruel.”

“I was happy with you.”

He laughs, joylessly.

“Not that any of it matters now” he says. “I think we can both agree that things are pretty well ruined. I forgive you for giving him up for adoption even if I still can’t stand that he was given to Capitol parents. It’s the six years of lies that I can’t come to terms with so easily.” He bites his bottom lip. “I suppose you want to know if I took Victor back.”

“I do.”

He leans back and lets go of my hand.

“The answer is both yes and no. I have no intention of ever giving up my paternal rights which means that the adoption can never be valid. That said… for now I think Victor is better off with Alexandria and Sulla. I’ve spent as much time with him as I possibly could this year but while we have developed a relationship I find I don’t have the heart to take him away from his home. At least not yet. I’ll wait until he’s old enough to have any real say in the matter.” He smiles and gets a dreamy look on his face. “He calls me Dad now. My brothers and I used to informally call our father that even after we were too old for it. I told Victor and he took to using that name for me. Sulla is still his _father_ but I’m his _dad_ and even if he doesn’t understand the actual difference between our roles he at least knows that we’re both his parent but in different ways.”

I smile sadly, feeling both relieved and sad for his sake that he had to give the boy up after all, at least for the moment. I don’t have to imagine how Peeta feels when Victor calls him _Dad_. What I wouldn’t give to hear him call me _Mom_ or anything similar.

“What do Sulla and Alexandria say?” I ask, eager to keep him talking. “About the adoption not being valid, I mean.”

“They’re not happy” admits Peeta. “They don’t think too highly of you since you had the wrong guy sign away paternity. Sulla keeps trying to convince me to sign over my rights but it’s not going to happen. If I do they might not let me see my boy. I can tell my presence makes them uncomfortable. For the moment I think they’re okay with the compromise but they must be bitter since it was never part of the original deal, and of course it poses practical problems for them. They can’t take him anywhere outside the Capitol without my permission, I have to approve their choice of school and if he needs medical attention I have to agree to all aspects of treatment.”

“Sounds impractical” I can’t help but say.

“At least it gives me the chance to have a hand in who he becomes. He’s not going to turn into one of those shrill Capitol people. There’s going to be real substance to him, not just an empty shell.”

“So what now? You’ll go back to the Capitol?”

“No… No, not yet.” His smile fades a little and he studies his fingers. “Victor started school this week and I want him to have time to focus on that and not spend time with me every other day. In the meantime I have the bakery to think about. I’ve been ignoring it for a long time, letting Mike keep things running, but I can’t keep that up forever. I’m staying here until mid-October and then I’ll be going back for a few weeks. After that I’ll try to figure some form of schedule out. I could simply tell Alexandria and Sulla to move here with him if they want to keep him but I can’t seem to find it in me to do that.”

“No, I suppose you couldn’t. It doesn’t sound like something you would do.”

“Anyway…” says Peeta. “I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am about how I treated you. I thought I should have that conversation before I go back to the Capitol.”

“I am so tired of apologies” I sigh. “Peeta can’t we just agree to forgive one another? If I forgive you for everything that could possibly need forgiveness and you are somehow able to do the same for me then maybe we can…”

“Move forward?”

“Something like that.” I realize the hopelessness of the situation and shrug. “You can’t forgive me. It’s too much to ask and too much to forgive. I guess I was just trying to say… that I can’t remember ever having anything to forgive you for. Not now, not ever.”

“You must be suffering from some pretty terrible amnesia.” If the comment is meant to make me laugh it fails. “I do forgive you. I don’t want to be mad anymore.” He pauses, looks pained. “I don’t want to be at odds with Victor’s mother for the rest of my life. I see so much of you in him and I don’t want to associate that with negativity.”

He gets up from his seat and I follow suit, reeling from his comment about seeing much of me in our little boy. We stand there for a moment, looking at each other. A strong urge comes over me to tell him how much I’ve missed him and that I want to come home but I can’t do that this time. He’s not mine to love anymore. When he walks over and pulls me in for a hug I try with all my might to absorb as much of him and the moment as I can, wondering if this is the last time he’ll show me this kind of affection. The hug itself is rather formal, not at all as warm and comforting as his embraces used to be. Almost like acquaintances hugging and not two people who have loved each other, been married to each other and brought a new life into the world.

“Friends?” he asks.

I should be jubilant. This is far more than I ever dared to hope for. Even so it takes a lot of willpower to nod my head and be content with his suggestion. I want so much more but it can never happen. I need to be content just having him in my life again. I don’t even know yet to what extension he is back. Only time will tell and I know I have no room to complain. I’ve been given countless chances with him and never made myself worthy of any of them. Now he’s no longer unconditionally mine and so I have to make do with whatever he is willing to give me.

No matter how painful it is to know that if we don’t spend time together it’s because he doesn’t want us to.

 

 

When Haymitch learns that Peeta is back and that we’ve made some form of peace he guffaws and says something about how the two of us must have some kind of sickness in that we can’t seem to stay apart for very long.

“It’s different this time” says Peeta calmly.

“Oh of course” smirks Haymitch.

“It is” insists Peeta. “We’re not _together_. We’re just trying to be friends again.”

Hearing him say it hurts but I’ll be damned if I let Haymitch sense it so I reach over and snatch the bottle from my old mentor’s hand and walk over to the sink where I threaten to pour the contents down the drain.

“I think you’ve had too much to drink, Haymitch” I say. “You’re seeing star-crossed lovers where there are none.”

“Go through with pouring out that liquor and you’ll just be seeing stars” growls Haymitch.

Peeta rolls his eyes, grabs the bottle from my hand and sets it down on the counter.

“The point is we’re not mad at each other anymore.”

“Just mad at ourselves” I mutter. “Though he shouldn’t be.”

“Figures” snorts Haymitch. “You’re both gluttons for self-blame so this must all be right up your alley. Is there anything else or can I get back to drinking?”

“No drink for you” says Peeta. “You’re coming with me.”

“Where?” asks Haymitch with much annoyance.

“To town. I need to check how things are at the bakery and you seriously need some new clothes. Do you own anything that doesn’t smell of booze or puke or both?”

“You’re taking me _shopping_?”

“You need new clothes.”

“Good grief” complains Haymitch with rolling eyes. “You find out you knocked a girl up and all of a sudden you’re everybody’s father. How is Salvia Smith, by the way?”

My eyes dart to Peeta. What about Salvia Smith?

“She’s still treated by Dr. Aurelius on a near-daily basis” answers Peeta and grabs Haymitch by the arm. “Get up. No more excuses.”

Haymitch burps loudly and Peeta makes a face. He sees something on the table, picks it up and seems to poke it on Haymitch’s back. Our old mentor roars angrily and flies to his feet, wielding his right arm at Peeta as if he thinks he’s holding a knife. Peeta ducks without concern and kicks the chair away so the older man can’t sit.

“Don’t be a baby” he says. “We’re leaving. _Now_.”

“If I had known what trouble the two of you would turn out to be I would have gladly let you both die in the arena” growls Haymitch.

“Sure you would have” says Peeta and ushers him towards the door.

Without saying a word I follow them through the house. I might as well join them on their walk to town. Haymitch doesn’t seem entirely stable and Peeta might need my help with him. The three of us leave the house and I take a deep breath of fresh air.

“What the hell do you _do_ in that house?” I’m compelled to ask as we walk the familiar road that leads to town. “It smells like a brewery, a toilet and a slag heap all at once.”

“Who gives a damn what it smells like?” asks Haymitch.

“ _You_ smell like a brewery, a toilet and a slag heap.”

“You haven’t smelled so lovely yourself this past winter” he retorts.

“Oh shut up.”

“Katniss is right” says Peeta. “You’ll need a shower… and perhaps a rinse-through in detergent… before you wear any of the new stuff we’re getting you.”

“Then why the hell bother getting anything new in the first place?” scowls Haymitch.

“Because try as you might I’m not going to let you completely degrade yourself” says Peeta in a harsh tone. “I’m so damn sick and tired of you both thinking it’s okay to not wash or eat or change your clothes or in any way take care of yourselves just because you’re losing the battle against your inner demons. Maybe the memo didn’t reach you but I survived a damn arena too and I had to pay with my leg. If you think Snow invited me to tea parties while I was captured during the war you’re sorely mistaken. All of us hate our lives but the least you could do is take some responsibility and _try_ to get a hold of yourselves.”

Both Haymitch and I stare at him in shock. Peeta raises an eyebrow as if to challenge us to try and argue with him but we’re both well aware of when he can be persuaded and when there’s no point in trying to voice a different opinion.

“Well, boy, if it means that much to you…” begins Haymitch but I strongly doubt he’s contemplating turning his life around. He’s lived this way for far too long.

“Whatever” shrugs Peeta. “Do whatever you like. I’m probably insane to think either one of you has the willpower or the capacity to stop hiding behind your self-pity.”

“Peeta…” I begin softly but he shakes his head.

“If you have any drive at all Haymitch is getting new clothes. You, Katniss, can do whatever you like. Just do _something_ to move on with your life and not stay tethered to the past.”

“How come I’m forced to have a makeover and the woman gets to keep on wearing those ragged hunting clothes in public?” questions Haymitch.

“Because I only have the strength to deal with one of you today.”

I avoid looking at him for a moment and think to myself that I’m not going to say anything for a few minutes. This harsher tone is not one I heard often prior to last year and I would prefer it if I never had to hear it again. It unsettles me to think that Peeta is losing some of his gentleness and it’s because of me. The Games and the war couldn’t beat it out of him which makes it all the more horrible that apparently I could. Haymitch doesn’t seem to take any heed to the tone of Peeta’s voice and turns to me, the smell of his breath making me feel faint.

“Gee, thank you sweetheart for bringing out this lovely side in him.”

When I don’t take the bait and Peeta ignores him Haymitch shuts up and we walk the rest of the way in silence. It’s still summer but a few trees here and there have gotten a head start on autumn with leaves turning orange. I usually love the fall with its bright colors and the coolness in the air following a hot summer. At least, I love it until the leaves have fallen and the world becomes dull and grey and just a mess of rain and mud and dirt.

Once we get to town I say goodbye to Haymitch and Peeta and head off towards the market. Greasy Sae will probably be there selling her stew which people born and raised in District 12 still like to buy even if I suspect most do it the same way that I do, to help the old woman keep things going. I don’t like the new market as much as the old Hob – it’s too hot during summer and never warm enough during winter. There’s no denying though that the selection of goods has improved vastly. I sig-sag between booths selling watches, old books and wooden kitchen utensils until I reach Sae’s spot in the back. She smirks when she sees me, pours a bowl of stew for me and hands it over.

“Thanks” I say and take a seat on the countertop. “I don’t have any money on me. I’ll bring you game next time.”

“Bring me bakery bread” says Sae with a suggestive eyebrow raised.

I stop my hand which has raised a spoonful of stew halfway to my mouth.

“What?”

“Heard your baker is back.”

“News travels fast around here” I mutter and stir the stew with my spoon. Chunky bits of what might have once been a wild dog swims around with soggy tomatoes and pieces of carrot.

“About time he came back” grunts Greasy Sae.

“If you want bread you’re going to have to ask Peeta” I say and shove a sizeable chuck of stew in my mouth.

“Tell him I want the kind with raisins in it” says Sae, paying no need to my comment. “They go well with the stew. People pay more when they get the bread.”

Of course they do. Fine bakery bread which would cost a whole lot more at the bakery. Sae throws it in with the strew for a fraction of what it’s worth whenever she can get her hands on it. If you’re lucky she doesn’t literally throw it in the stew and you can enjoy the full flavor of the bread while you eat your bits of wild dog.

I finish the stew quickly, wanting to get away from there before she can ask me more about Peeta. I don’t know what to tell her and I’d rather avoid talking about it altogether. What am I supposed to say when somebody asks why we called off the wedding and Peeta left for the Capitol? Up until now people have politely refrained from asking but with Peeta being back that is probably going to be too much for their curiosity to handle.

When I leave the market I head for the part of town where Hazelle lives with Vick and Posy. It feels strange that they are no longer kids but teenagers on the verge of adulthood. Rory is already married and moved out which is hard to comprehend. I worry about Hazelle whenever I see her out on the streets. Her hair is beginning to turn grey and she’s getting visibly older. Soon she won’t have any kids left in her house and she will be all alone. Maybe at that point Gale will come back and talk her into moving to Two with him. I can’t see him not wanting to take care of his mother when she grows old.

I know she’s having a bit of trouble making ends meet. The first year after the war it seemed impossible that anyone could be without employment or means to sustain themselves but as the reconstruction is happening at a slower pace while more and more people from other districts are moving here it’s becoming difficult for people like Hazelle to find work. Many people are buying washing machines now and don’t need to pay somebody else to do their laundry for them. Hazelle can cook and clean but housekeepers are not what people primarily want to spend their improved incomes on. Rory works at a lumber mill but his income is now needed to support himself, his wife and the baby that is due in four months. Gale makes good money in District 2 but it’s not safe to send money all the way from there to Twelve. Hazelle has only herself to look to.

I knock on the door and Posy answers. Her dark hair is tied up in a high ponytail and she’s wearing a dress in a bright shade of green I had only ever seen in the Capitol before the war happened. Her face lights up in a smile at the sight of me and I’m welcomed in to their small but comfortable home. She leads me to the kitchen where Hazelle is baking bread. I can’t help but feel the house looks empty without Rory and especially without Gale but I don’t say anything out loud. I can read on Hazelle’s face that she feels it too.

“It’s lovely to see you, Katniss” says Hazelle and gives me a warm hug.

“I should come by more often” I say.

“You should. No matter what happened between you and Gale you are always a welcome guest in this house. Posy, put on some coffee.”

“Actually, I can’t stay long” I say. I have nothing to do for the rest of the day but I don’t want them to spend any luxury items on me.

“Oh” says Hazelle and the disappointment is clear in her voice. “Well, sit down at least. I’m sorry, I have to finish with this bread.”

“No, that’s fine” I say.

“I hear you have access to freshly baked bread every morning again” comments Hazelle and shoots me a look over her shoulder.

I can hardly keep back a groan. Peeta has only been back a few days; how has the news spread so far so fast? From what I know he’s barely left the Victors’ Village in that time. Someone must have seen him getting off the train and then gossip began to spread like wildfire.

“Peeta’s back” I acknowledge. “Not with me. Just back.”

She gives me another look, carefully studying me as if trying to read my inner thoughts. She was good at that once but it’s been a long time since then.

“Oh” she says finally. “I’m surprised to hear that.”

“I thought you two were going to get married” Posy chimes in and takes a seat opposite me at the table. “Again.”

“I’m not here to talk about Peeta” I say shortly. I turn to Hazelle. “I have a suggestion for you. Actually it’s something of a favor.”

“What can I do for you?” asks Hazelle and kneads the dough with her strong hands. Watching her it’s obvious she’s done this countless times but she doesn’t do it half as good as Peeta. Why does everything have to remind me of him?

“Haymitch’s house is filthy” I say. “Years, _decades_ of dirt and unwashed clothes and garbage accumulated. I’m worried he’s going to be killed by rats in his sleep if nothing happens. I was hoping that maybe you could consider taking the job of housekeeper. It’s not going to be pleasant work but it will pay accordingly.”

“Haymitch has agreed to this?” asks Hazelle skeptically.

“Not exactly” I admit. “Not yet. He will, though.”

She mulls it over while she finishes kneading the dough and shaping it into three loaves. Posy watches her from her spot at the table, her eyebrows raised in an expectant expression. Finally she voices an opinion.

“Come on, Mother! You need a job.”

I see Hazelle’s cheeks turn red and I look away, pretending to be fascinated by the simple painting of a rabbit on a meadow. It’s been hanging on their wall since after the war and it’s alright I guess but it’s old and the color has faded a bit. Once again my mind goes to Peeta and how he would be able to paint them a new picture of a rabbit if they want one.

“Alright” says Hazelle and I turn to look at her again. “If Haymitch agrees to it. I suppose somebody needs to look after that man.”

“Yes” I agree with a nod and a smile. I get up from my chair and walk over to her, wrapping my arms around her neck. “Thank you, Hazelle.”

“Don’t thank me yet. If he wields that knife at me I quit on the spot.”

“He won’t” I assure her. “Just don’t startle him awake, that’s all.”

She looks skeptical but I give her a reassuring smile. I have a feeling Gale is going to object to his mother working for Haymitch but he’s not here and he can’t help provide for them. If anything he should be thankful that I found a way for her to make ends meet.

If I can convince Haymitch, that is.

 

 

That evening Peeta comes over and helps me cook dinner. It seems easier for him to come to my house than to let me come to his. He takes a brief look at the kitchen, run-down and messy, but doesn’t make any comment. I can tell he’s keeping in a sigh but he rolls up his sleeves and begins to clear the counter so he can prepare food. Cheeks blushing with shame I hurry to try and tidy the place up. I’ve been too engulfed in my depression to care much about the state of my house but I want it to look nice again like it used to when my mother lived here and when Gale did.

“Did you find anything for Haymitch?” I ask, wiping the dust off the spice rack.

“Barely. It’s like he thinks fabric will burn his skin if it’s not coated in a layer of dirt. I hardly remember the man who used to be dressed nicely during the Games and official appearances. Back then he at least knew how and when to clean himself up and lay off the bottle for however long he could manage.”

“Don’t be too hard on him” I say and turn the faucet on to rinse the rag. “His Games had twice as many tributes; ours had twice as many victors. He mentored every kid we mentored plus an additional forty-eight. I don’t blame him for crawling into a bottle.”

“I just think there comes a point when you have to stop and pull yourself together.”

“Not everybody can do that, Peeta” I point out. “Not everyone is like you. Some of us have demons we can never chase away. That doesn’t make us weaker.”

“I know” says Peeta. He pauses and looks at his hands. “I’m just not good at standing on the sidelines watching people I care about destroy themselves.”

“I know” I say. “Some of what you said today is true. I can make do but Haymitch needs some interventions. I talked to Hazelle today and offered her a job as his housekeeper.”

“What did she ever do to you?” asks Peeta, only half in jest. He deems the counter clean enough to cook on and lays out a chopping block, a knife and a bag of vegetables. “Do you think Haymitch will agree to it?”

“He might.”

“Maybe he’ll even _like_ having a clean home.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Peeta prepares the food and I assist him. I find myself a touch uncomfortable standing right next to him in the kitchen preparing a meal for us to share. I cannot count the times him and I have been in a kitchen together, him cooking or baking and me helping him out with minor tasks. The familiarity is nice and yet bittersweet. Standing so close to him without being allowed to wrap my arms around him or even touch him at all other than by accident makes my whole body ache. I’m consumed by him and feel like I’ve been imprisoned from the loss of the right to touch him. I barely feel the smell of the food and the only hunger I feel is of an entirely different kind.

Surely he must notice the effect this has on me but if he does he refrains from comment. He doesn’t act like he used to, no matter how cordial he is towards me. There’s a wall up now and I know he’s not going to let me cross it. It’s there to protect him from me so that I will never be able to hurt him again. Even if he wants to be my friend he’s going to keep me at arm’s length and there’s nothing I can do but accept it.

We eat dinner in a not entirely comfortable silence. Both of us seem to be preoccupied and I’m not even sure Peeta remembers that I’m at the table too. I don’t have an appetite at all but I don’t want to refuse the food he’s cooked for me so I force myself to finish every last bite on my plate. Peeta finishes after me and pushes his empty plate away from him. He leans back in his chair, a curl of his blonde hair stuck to his forehead. I want to reach out and brush it aside. I want to feel the texture of his hair under my fingers again.

“Can I stay for a while?” he asks. “I’d like to talk.”

He can stay until he dies as far as I’m concerned but I look at him skeptically when he says he wants to talk. He hasn’t done much of it while we’ve been eating.

“Okay” is all I say and then I stand up and begin to collect the dirty dishes.

“Leave it” says Peeta. “Let’s talk first.”

He walks towards the living room. I hesitate for a moment, my eyes going from the dishes in my hands to the clean ones on the counter and then to the door he walked out from. I decide to do as he says and leave the dishes. I set them down in the sink and run the faucet over them for a few seconds. I wipe my hands on the white kitchen towel and walk to the living room where Peeta is getting a fire going.

“What do you want to talk about?” I ask nervously. I sit down on the couch and pull my feet up underneath me.

He doesn’t answer at first. With a stick he pokes around a little in the fireplace. The fire begins to cackle and he rises to his feet, tossing the stick into the flames. He stays like that for a moment, his eyes observing the flames that lick the logs. Finally he turns and walks to the couch, sitting down on the opposite end. He reaches down and removes his artificial leg, letting out a small content sigh when his body is free of the plastic and metal. Sometimes I forget that he’s not walking on his real leg but other times it is hard to ignore how much it really does inconvenience him.

“Katniss…” he begins. “I know you’re not comfortable talking about things. Still I would like for you to do just that. I never… I never gave you a chance to tell me what _really_ happened. In your own words, all the details, everything. You don’t like to talk about things that are private to you but this concerns me too. I want to hear from _you_ everything that happened from the moment my son was conceived to the moment they took him from your arms. As his father I think I have the right to know the whole story.”

The request is simple enough. I shift so that I’ve got my legs in front of me, my arms wrapped around my knees. My eyes find the fireplace and now it’s my turn to study the flames. The request is simple and I wanted badly to tell Peeta my side of things and for him to listen but that was last year when he hated me and I desperately needed for him to understand. It’s different now. Can I really tell him what I felt? Part of that is telling him I wasn’t in love with him, or at least I don’t think I was. It also means giving him details he might not be comfortable hearing. I can’t bear to hear him talk in-depth about what happened to him when he was Snow’s prisoner – can Peeta really handle hearing about the pain I went through that spring and summer? Granted he’s not in love with me anymore so it wouldn’t be _as_ difficult for him but it’s still a lot to take.

“Please Katniss” says Peeta softly. “I need to hear it. Moreover, I think you need me to hear it. After the way I treated you last year…”

“Please Peeta” I say. “Stop talking about that like you did me wrong. If there ever was something to forgive you for I did it already, remember?”

“All I’m saying is that I think it’s something we both need in order to move forward.”

I draw a deep breath but instead of talking I end up holding it for about ten seconds before slowly letting it out again. I don’t even know where to start or how to begin. This is a conversation I can only really see myself having while naked in Peeta’s arms. The only time I’m ever comfortable opening up completely is in the afterglow of sex. Since that is not an option I will have to find some way of telling him about this anyway.

He doesn’t rush me. He just sits there in silence while I try to think of how to begin and what details to include. What things did I want him to know last year?

“I never wanted to lie to you” I begin.

“Why don’t you start by telling me how and when you first found out?”

“It was… It was some weeks after we got home from the Victory Tour. I had been feeling various symptoms I didn’t give much weight to but then my mother got a visit from a young woman who thought she might be pregnant and I realized that every symptom of hers was true of me.”

For the next hour I tell my story. It’s a slow process, not to mention painful. Never before have I put words to those months and an endless stream of memories seem to be washing over me, one at a time. I want so much for him to understand, to share with him all the things I’ve been carrying for over seven years, but I don’t have his gift of putting feelings to words. My story instead becomes stilted and very factual with only a small amount of emotions included. All the while he just sits there and listens, asking questions every now and then. I long to close the distance between us, hope that he will offer me his arms for comfort, but I leave it up to him to make the first move. He never does and it makes it even more difficult to continue the story.

When I get to the part where Victor was born I can’t get another word out. Tears fall down my face as I force myself to relive that day. The pain, the humiliation I felt at so many people staring at my crotch with clinical disinterest, the fear of what was happening in my body, the feeling of a baby pushing through me and tearing me apart, the panic I felt at the idea of seeing my child or hearing them say the gender.

Then of course the part where they forced me to nurse. The weight of Victor in my arms, the feel of his tiny mouth suckling at my breast. Those little noises he made. The way he smelled that afternoon. How it was almost physically painful when the nurse took him from my arms. Laying alone in bed afterward, clinging to his little blue blanket, aching for Peeta to come and hold me and for our child to still be there with me.

I can’t tell Peeta about this. No words could ever explain what I went through. I can’t even try and share this experience with him without the protection of his warm embrace and above all his love. He probably has a right to hear about when his son was born but he’ll have to ask Gale if he wants details. I skip over the entire telling of the birth and wrap my story up as simply as I can.

“While I was giving birth, I thought... I thought that was the worst pain I would ever experience.” My voice shudders as I continue. “Then they took him from me and I knew that nothing else could ever measure up to that. And nothing ever has.”

I close my eyes hard and just let the tears fall. I’m engrossed enough in my own misery that I don’t even hear Peeta getting up from his spot across from me on the couch and when his arm comes around my shoulders and pulls me to him I startle. He shushes me and pulls me in for a proper embrace. I bury my face in his shirt and cry, feeling his hand rest on the back of my head. How often have I wished I could share this pain with him and be comforted by him like this?

“I can’t even imagine” he whispers to me. “I don’t think I would have had the strength to do what you did.”

I want to answer that the only thing I feared worse that day than giving the baby up was standing there on stage at the reaping and seeing my child walking up towards the stage. I want to tell him that ever since I met Victor for real I’ve been plagued by the image of him at an older age having his name drawn, giving Peeta and I a terrified look, walking up on stage to be made ready for the slaughter. Instead I just cry and let Peeta take care of me. He holds me close until I’m no longer weeping and then he gently loosens his grip and looks at me. His eyes are full of concern and sympathy.

“Do you think he’ll ever understand?” I hear myself ask.

“Why you gave him up?” asks Peeta and I nod. “I don’t know, Katniss. It’s not such a bad thing if he doesn’t.”

“How could it be anything but?” I ask and sniffle, wiping my nose on my forearm. “I never thought he would know he had another mother but now that he does I don’t want him to think I didn’t, that I _don’t_ , love him.”

“There are no more Hunger Games. He’ll hear about them in school, chances are he’ll even see parts of ours, but he may never fully understand them. Nor will he ever comprehend the terror parents felt in every district every year at the Reaping.”

I nod slowly. He’s right. If Victor doesn’t understand why I gave him up for adoption because he doesn’t understand the fear and the pain and the terror of the Games then that could be a positive. He doesn’t have to grow up in a world where the Games are a reality and people are oppressed. Isn’t that what I wanted for him in the first place?

“I wish I could know him” I say. “I really do. I hate myself for it but I almost wish you would take him from the Capitol and bring him here, with or without his adoptive parents. I know I said you shouldn’t but sometimes I’m really selfish.”

“You’re not selfish” says Peeta and gently strokes a strain of hair from my brow. “None of what you did was selfish.”

“Maybe it was” I counter. I’ve still got one arm wrapped around him and my cheek pressed to his shirt, never wanting to reach the moment when he’ll pull away. With my other hand I grab a bit of fabric from his shirt and hold it almost as I did with the baby blanket once. “Maybe I gave him away without caring _how_ he would be raised or _who_ he would turn into because I wanted to spare myself from being his mentor one day.”

“That’s like saying you took Prim’s place at the Reaping because you selfishly wanted to spare yourself seeing her die in the arena. If what you’re doing causes you that much pain I don’t see how it is primarily self-serving. Or else everything we do is selfish.”

“Peeta… Even if he can’t ever understand do you think he will _forgive_ me?”

“For giving him a safe and loving home? Yes.”

“I hope he’s like you” I say. “Able to forgive so easily. If he’s like me there’s no chance he’ll ever forgive me.”

He carefully releases me and sits down next to me on the couch, reaching for his prosthetic to put it back on. Our only physical contact now is my toes touching his right thigh. I can feel my whole body longing to be touching him again like I was mere moments ago. Peeta closes his eyes and leans his head back and I notice how weary he looks. The dark circles under his eyes, the lack of luster in his normally rather shiny ashen hair. It doesn’t seem fair that on top of all the other pain I’ve inflicted on him he has to live with the needless guilt he feels over his reaction a year ago. Even if his words were hurtful and some no doubt intended to be I can’t blame him for any of it. He was so shocked and had so much to take in all at once and it’s nothing at all compared to what I’ve done to him.

“I thought you would never be able to forgive me if you found out what I had done” I say and he opens his eyes to look at me. “I knew you had the right to know, at least once the threat of Snow killing the child was gone, but I couldn’t bear to lose your love. If we’re going to talk about acts of selfishness I think that takes the cake.”

“I used to think it was impossible for me to feel differently about you” Peeta admits. “ In my eyes you did no wrong. My mother used to say to my brothers and me that eyes in love are blind and the worst day of our lives would be when we learned to see.”

He looks at me in a way that makes me almost want to crawl out of my skin. The implication of his words are clear enough but he still continues and says the words I’ve been dreading to hear no matter how much I’ve been expecting it.

“Last year I finally saw you clearly.”

“Yeah…” I mutter and look down on my hands. I can’t look at him anymore.

“Which was for the best, really” continues Peeta. Intentionally or unintentionally he’s driving the knife in further. “I thought I loved you for who you are but I’m not sure I ever really knew you or understood you. I didn’t want to see anything bad in you, anything that contradicted the fantasy I had created in my mind. Maybe all this time I was just in love with that fantasy.”

I want to scream at him to shut up and go away and leave me alone. Can’t I at least have those years when he loved me? Is he saying this to pay me back and give me some pain to match what he must have felt when he found out such a huge lie had been in-between us all those years? That doesn’t sound like him at all but I have never doubted that anybody can be driven to cruelty if pushed too far. Peeta stayed a good person after the Games, after the war and after his torture but there’s always the possibility of the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

“Now we can have an honest friendship” he continues. “Based on a better understanding for who the other is.”

“Who I am is a liar and a deceiver?” I ask with a hint of anger.

“Who you are is somebody flawed. I never allowed myself to acknowledge those flaws before.”

He gets up and walks to the kitchen, leaving me to digest everything that’s happened since we sat down to talk. I hear him run the tap to fill the sink and I know I should probably tell him to leave the dishes but if he wants to do them then who am I to object? I have to try and get used to living life as his friend and nothing more. Now I have such a good understanding for what he must have felt years ago when he loved me and I didn’t want him in return.

They say karma is a bitch.

 

 

Slowly, over time, Peeta and I grow back together. It’s strange how two people can do that when there’s no mutual love binding them together. Yet it happened to us before even if this time the roles are reversed. One of us in love and the other... It’s not the same as it used to be between us and Peeta doesn’t seem as comfortable around me as he used to but we don’t really have anyone else but each other nearby so we work on salvaging whatever can be salvaged from the wreckage of our former relationship. I think Peeta needs me in his life in the same way he accused me of needing him. No matter what has happened since we got out of the arena I will still always be the girl he lived through that nightmare with and I am the only one who can understand the demons he faces from the Games. It’s strange to know that he needs me that way but he doesn’t desire me. However I don’t complain anymore. This is as much as I will get and it’s more than I could have hoped for. Peeta’s friendship and companionship, occasionally even him spending the night in a guest bedroom and allowing me to come and wake him if I have a nightmare. I try not to. I want to enjoy the luxury of having him near but I don’t want to take advantage of his kindness. It’s not even the same when I do seek solace with him. He’s comforting but not loving and that can sometimes make me feel even worse.

Every night Peeta calls Victor and talks to him before the boy goes to bed. He makes these calls from his own house and I’m never there when he does. I don’t know how to ask him and to be honest I don’t know what I would say to the child. My son doesn’t know me. He only saw me once. I envy Peeta for the relationship he is building with Victor but he’s got entirely different prerequisites. He can go to the Capitol whenever he wants and if he wants to he can bring Victor back home to Twelve. I, on the other hand, am completely powerless to do anything. I can’t go and visit my boy nor can I get back the maternal rights I once signed away. Building a relationship with him over the phone when I might never be more to him than a voice on the other end of the line seems cruel and like it would just confuse the boy.

In late October Peeta leaves District 12 and returns to the Capitol. While he is away I try to go on with my life as if I never had a husband or a child. It’s futile but sometimes I feel like I can’t move forward if I think too much about the past and what could have been. I have had my phone reactivated and I wait for Peeta’s calls but they come only rarely. He is spending as much time as he can with Victor and when the child is at school Peeta apparently socializes with friends in the Capitol. New pictures appear in the media. None of them show Victor. Peeta has still managed to keep his real business there a secret.

Every afternoon when I come back from my hunt I go to Haymitch. His house is now clean and smells better, if not good. Hazelle has done a remarkable job clearing out old dirt and garbage, washing up linens and carpets and the floors and even gotten some of the vomit stains out of the couch. Haymitch didn’t protest to getting a housekeeper so maybe Peeta’s words had some effect on him after all. Not that he gives up drinking or takes to sleeping at night like regular people do but I can’t find it in me to ask that of him. After everything he is entitled to fighting his demons in whatever way seems preferable to him.

Once the house has gotten into something resembling good shape Hazelle only comes over on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays to clean up, do laundry and cook. She is usually still there when I arrive with my game bag and she teaches me more about how to prepare a good meal. Some of what Gale taught me is still in my head but most of all I find that what I lack is imagination. I can hardly ever come up with something fun and exciting to cook so I stick to the most basic things. With Hazelle’s help I broaden my horizons a bit. Haymitch tells me my cooking is horrid but he eats it without complaint and I suspect he’s mostly just ribbing me out of old habit.

Peeta stays away for four months and when he returns he is melancholy for a few days. After a while we fall back into the routines we established before he left, where he comes over to my house every morning with fresh bread and sometimes with Haymitch in tow, then he spends the day at the bakery while I go out in the woods and we later reconvene again to have dinner. It’s a little like the old days except with no kissing and almost no touching of any kind. Sometimes he stays and sits by the fireplace after dinner but more often than not he leaves when it’s time to make his call to Victor and then he doesn’t return.

 

 

Spring eventually comes. When it’s hot enough outside and the ground has dried up we dig up an old blanket and lay it out on my lawn. We stretch out on our backs and enjoy the warmth of the sun, the smells of spring and the sound of the birds around us. Peeta whistles a simple tune and a group of mockingjays pick it up and sing it back and forth to each other.

“Where did you get these scars?” I ask and reach out my finger, letting them trace down his arm. Visible through the blonde hair that covers his arms are a series of thin, long scars which he didn’t have when he left in October.

“Sulla and Alexandria gave Victor a cat for his birthday.”

“A cat?” I say with disapproval, thinking back on ugly old Buttercup.

“A grey and white little thing of some kind of breed that according to the Capitol is among the finest of the feline family.” He turns his head and grins at me, holding up his arm to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight. “Cute as a button but suffice to say has not yet learned to retract its claws during playtime. Victor loves him and he’s really angry that he refuses to sleep in his bed with him.”

“They couldn’t have gotten him a dog instead?”

“The cat is really cute, Katniss” chuckles Peeta. “Sulla named him Tribute but I dug my heels in and told them in no uncertain terms that no animal by that name was going to be allowed into my son’s home.”

I roll my eyes at the tastelessness of Capitol people. No doubt they thought Tribute was a fabulous name for the pet of a child named Victor. Not even when they know that their son was given to them because the birth mother wanted to save him from a certain future in the arena do they seem to see anything terrible about the Games.

“We let Victor name him instead” continues Peeta.

“What genius name did he come up with?”

“Chipmunk. After some really old cartoon they’ve restored and sometimes show on TV where two chipmunks fight against a duck.”

I raise myself up on my eyebrows and look down on him.

“Are you joking?”

“Nope.”

“I think he takes after Prim when it comes to naming things” I sigh and lie back down. The thought brings about another query. “Is he much like her?”

“Who? Prim?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know. In what ways do you mean?”

“Does he… Is he sweet and soft-spoken like her?”

“A little. He’s much more wild than she ever was, though. I lost count of how many times he fell and scraped his knees during my last visit.”

“Do you think he is a healer?”

“No” says Peeta and leans back, resting his head on his hands and gazing up at the clouds above. “I think he’s more like you and finds it difficult when others are in pain or sick.”

“Could he become a good hunter if he gets the chance?”

“Maybe” shrugs Peeta. “I tried getting him interested in baking but he could care less. He doesn’t even like to taste the batter. It bores him. What seems to catch his interest the most is music.”

“Music?”

“Yeah. He doesn’t sing like you do but he has this old xylophone and he can sit and play on it for hours on end even though it’s meant for a toddler.”

“What’s a xylophone?” I have to ask.

He explains it to me. A small instrument with bars in different colors and when you strike them with a drumstick they produce different sounds. Victor seems to be fascinated with creating different tunes on the instrument and Peeta says he’s thinking of buying some other kind of instrument for him when he turns eight in August.

“I know the piano is supposed to be a high class instrument in the Capitol but I don’t think Alexandria and Sulla would appreciate one much” he muses. “I’m thinking a violin, maybe.”

“Won’t that sound even worse before he’s gotten the hang of it?” I ask with a small laugh.

“Yeah, I guess” he chuckles. He pauses and looks like he’s lost in memories. “I let him try the ocarina.”

“Ryean’s ocarina?”

Peeta nods and swats away a fly that tries to land on his cheek.

“He screamed like a banshee when I took it back. I don’t know why but I wasn’t comfortable _giving_ it to him. Maybe when he’s older and can appreciate it more…”

I shift to lying on my side and gaze at him. He’s squinting in the sunlight and looks lost in thought. I resist the urge to reach out and brush aside the strain of hair that rests on his brow.

“Did you notice how Victor makes a face that looks just like one Ryean used to make?” I ask.

A smile lights up Peeta’s face.

“I have.”

“It’s strange” I say. “Seeing your brother’s expression on a six year-old boy’s face.”

“He makes faces that remind me of you sometimes” says Peeta and looks up at me. “That focused look you’ve got when you’re aiming at a target or focusing on a task. That’s the face he makes when he sits with his xylophone.”

I smile a little, glad to think he has mannerisms that he’s inherited from me. I sit up and shift so I can see Peeta better. By his feet sits a small basket filled with bread, cheese, a bottle of juice and some crackers. I grab a handful of crackers and chew on them slowly, swatting away the occasional fly that comes to partake in the meal.

“I hope he’ll grow up having your expressive eyes” I say.

“I think he has yours” counters Peeta and lifts himself up on his elbows. “They’re blue but other than that they’re just like yours.”

“Do you want a cracker?”

“No, I’m good.” He pulls up a few strains of grass with his fingers and studies them as they float down to the ground again. “Personal question.”

“Shoot” I say and reach inside the basket for the bottle.

“When you were pregnant and you were claiming that Gale was the father did you _wish_ that he was the father?”

I freeze. My hand holding the bottle is halfway between the basket and my mouth. I slowly set the bottle back down and face Peeta. His eyes are looking at me with determination and a bit of trepidation. From the looks of it he’s been wanting to ask this question for a long time.

“No” I say finally.

“No?” His voice sounds skeptical.

“I didn’t give it any thought” I tell him. “I wished I wasn’t pregnant. Who the father was… was irrelevant.”

“Well that makes me feel better” he says dryly.

“I didn’t give it any thought” I repeat. I decide I’m not thirsty after all and I lay down next to him again. “Does this surprise you?” I ask.

“No…” He gives a short laugh. “You know, I just… I made so many accusations against you when I found out and I was wrong about all of them. This was one I only thought but never said out loud and I guess I was afraid that it might be the one that I got right.”

I mull that over for a moment. Then I take a deep breath and gather my courage.

“Peeta you were _right_ about all the things you said. All but one.”

He’s still up on his elbows and now he frowns down at me.

“Which part?”

I try to swallow but my mouth feels dry.

“You were wrong when you said I never loved you.” Surprise is written on his face. Somehow I find the words to continue even though my heart is pounding in my chest and every instinct is telling me to flee and guard my heart. “I knew I loved you when I came back to you after Gale left. I just… I’m not good at saying things.”

He looks out on the view before us. Grass, trees that have just begun to get their leaves, the sun shining above us. His eyes are squinting and I find myself thinking we should have brought sunglasses or maybe Haymitch’s sunhat. Why are silly things like that on my mind when I’ve just admitted to Peeta that I love him?

“Truthfully Katniss… I don’t think I was so far off the mark.”

It feels like a bucket of cold water has just been emptied over me, the way I sometimes used to wake Haymitch up when I couldn’t get him to rouse. Peeta’s voice isn’t spiteful or sarcastic. It’s just honest and that hurts.

“I think…” he goes on. “I think you would like for it to be the truth. I think you _care_ about me. I think on some level you might even need me still.”

“But you don’t believe that I could love you?”

“I. Love. You.” He spells the words out with a little pause in-between each one. “Three simple words. Not that hard to say. I understand that for some people expressing your emotions is easier than it is for others, I do. It’s just that… when it’s the person you’ve been married to for years, lived with, slept with, even have a baby with and who you know loves you a lot, and you still can’t say it… then I don’t think you honestly feel it.” His eyes go to me and I hate that there’s kindness in them. Right now cold rejection would feel much nicer. Instead it feels like he’s pitying me, belittling me, not taking my emotions seriously. “Even now you’re only talking about it in the past tense or in hypothetical terms. I’m not sure why you wanted to marry me again but I don’t think it was for the right reasons.”

He lays himself down again and takes his eyes off me. I fight the urge to scoot away from him, preferably so far away that I can feel the fresh grass beneath me. I’m angry with him and with myself. Why can’t I just say the words to him without making it in the past tense when I feel it so strongly right here, right now? For that matter, should I even have to? Words are just words. You can run around saying those words to everyone you meet and you can still go a lifetime without ever meaning it. What I wasn’t able to tell Peeta I thought I was able to _show_ him. He didn’t seem like he had any doubts when we were last together so why change the tune now?

“Has it occurred to you that actions can speak louder than words?” I mutter.

“Is that a thread you want to be pulling on?” he asks sharply, sitting up on the blanket.

“Is one lie enough to negate everything else?” I shoot back.

“This lie? Yes.” He sounds annoyed now. “Even aside from that lie there’s the way you abandoned me emotionally in Thirteen and after the Capitol had fallen, not to mention going straight to Gale after splitting up with me.”

I sit up as well and wrap my arms around my knees, looking him straight in the eye. I feel as if though I’ve finally managed to touch upon whatever that thick wall he has up is made of and if I can only get him talking more about it maybe that wall can start to come down.

“I thought you said you forgave me for everything” I say.

“I did.”

“Then why do you sound so bitter?”

He looks at me in silence for a few seconds, then averts his eyes. After a moment he shrugs his shoulder.

“Maybe I haven’t truly forgiven you. Not entirely and for everything. I just don’t want to be mad about it all the time because that anger was eating me up inside and turning me into somebody I’m not comfortable being.”

“If you’re angry then be angry. Don’t pretend like you’ve forgiven me when you haven’t. I just told you something deeply personal and you practically threw it in my face.”

“I did not” he objects.

“Yes you did.”

“You have no problem saying you love Victor” Peeta feels the need to point out and I can barely stop myself from hissing at him.

“That’s different” I mutter instead.

“Yeah, I suppose…” He takes another pause and I wish he would just get up and leave and let me be alone with my broken heart. “I just know that I could never again allow myself to be vulnerable with you, to truly _feel_ something for you again, if you didn’t dare to be vulnerable with me. Before I could ever consider rekindling something between us I would need to know that you do love me. There’s only so much my heart can take.”

Why is he saying this? It’s all over, we both know that. He made it abundantly clear. It doesn’t matter if I proclaim my everlasting, all-consuming love for him right here on the spot because Peeta Mellark no longer loves me and he never will again. Is this some sort of subtle attempt at telling me to be more open with the next guy I fall in love with? Somehow I strongly doubt there is going to be a next guy. Peeta is it for me and if he doesn’t want me I would much rather be alone. I don’t need a man in my life to be happy or strong or content. I need Peeta because I love him but I will survive even without him.

“I’m getting cold” I tell him flatly and sit up. “I’m going back inside.”

“So we’re done talking?”

“What’s the point in talking? You’re way too hung up on _talking_.”

I leave the basket behind and walk back up to the house, feeling Peeta’s eyes on me the entire time. Did he use to feel like this? Did I use to make him feel this way? Like everything I said hurt like a knife in his heart? Why doesn’t he see that he is hurting me that way now?

I want to hear him call my name, to give some confirmation that he knows that he’s hurt me and that he cares that he did so and is sorry. Instead I get only silence.


	18. Chapter 18

We don’t speak of it again. The real nature of my feelings, or Peeta’s for that matter. Instead we go on as if the conversation out on the lawn never took place. Peeta continues to keep me at arm’s length emotionally and I continue to pretend that I’m fine with it. As time goes on I expect him to start making other friends, he has always been such a social person, but he doesn’t seek other people out the way he used to. No doubt I have broken his ability to trust people.

I celebrate my birthday, my twenty-fifth, and Hazelle insists on throwing me a party in Haymitch’s house. There’s a small gathering of people including Posy, Vick, Rory, Honey, Peeta, Mike, Greasy Sae and Jolt. The other guests are two people I know from town and Rusty Brooks, the governor appointed by Paylor. He lives next-door to Peeta and I’ve met him a handful of times. He brings me a small jewelry box decorated with seashells, made in District 4 where he was born. I don’t even think I own any jewelry anymore but I thank him nonetheless and figure it will at least look nice on my vanity.

Hazelle has prepared a small buffet for the occasion and baked me a cake. Somewhere she has found a long table which she’s dragged in to the sitting room and covered in a blue tablecloth that reaches almost all the way down to the floor. She has set two matching candlesticks on the table and put all the food there, along with a glass bowl filled with the kind of decorative plastic fruit people in the Capitol seemed to think were appropriate household decorations and saw fit to equip every house in the Victors’ Village with. I almost can’t believe that we’re having a nice dinner in Haymitch’s house of all places and that I can sit down on the couch without wanting to wipe my hands with antiseptic after they’ve touched the fabric. It’s not even the same couch as the one that’s been sitting here for decades. Haymitch gave Hazelle permission to throw out some of the furniture and replace it and she bought a beautiful black leather couch that must have cost a fortune. Hopefully the old one has been burned.

Around seven o’clock Peeta comes up to me and taps my shoulder. I’m in the middle of a conversation with Vick but when he waves at me with two fingers to follow him I tell Vick I will be right back and follow Peeta into the hallway.

“I didn’t buy you a gift” he tells me.

“That’s alright” I assure him.

“I thought there was something else you might like better than a gift-wrapped present.”

He opens the door to the study and I follow him inside. It’s the spitting image of the study in my own house except mirrored. Much like my own study it’s rarely been used but Hazelle has made sure that the thick layer of dust has been wiped off and even picked a small bouquet of flowers and placed them in a red glass vase on the writing desk.

Peeta walks over to the phone on the desk. He picks up the receiver which is sitting next to the actual phone. With a small smile he holds it out to me and I walk up to him and take it.

“Hello?” I say.

“Hi Katiss!” cheers a young voice on the other end. Tears fill my eyes and the hand that’s not holding the phone reaches up to cover my mouth. It doesn’t sound quite the same as it did when he was six but there’s no doubt in my mind that I’m hearing my son’s voice.

“Hi” I manage to croak.

“Happy birthday!” Victor cries happily. “Okay bye.”

He hangs up before I can ask him to stay on the line and talk to me. Peeta probably just asked him to tell me “happy birthday” and once he had done that he lost interest and hung up. All the same it’s the best birthday gift I’ve ever been given and I stand there for almost a minute after the call has ended, holding the phone to my ear and replaying Victor’s voice in my head.

With a trembling hand I hang up the phone. I turn to Peeta who stands there with a happy smile on his face. Wordlessly I embrace him, unable to express my gratitude but knowing that he understands perfectly. He returns my embrace, kisses my cheek and gives me a smile when we pull apart.

“Thank you” I’m able to mouth.

“Anytime” he smiles back at me. “My pleasure.”

His hand lands on the small of my back and we walk out of the study together. As soon as we step inside the sitting room where everyone else has gathered his hand disappears but I’m too high from having talked to my son to care. I walk over to Hazelle and give her a warm hug and thank her for arranging this get-together for me. She seems to think it’s the party that has made me so happy and emotional and I don’t mind if she thinks that. She’s worked so hard to turn Haymitch’s house into a nice place to live and I can tell she put a lot of effort into preparing this evening.

“It is a nice shindig” agrees Haymitch who walks over in time to hear me thank her. “Just one thing missing…”

“Boundless alcohol?” I guess.

“Right you are” says Haymitch. “Age has brought you wisdom.”

“There’s white wine in the fridge” Hazelle informs him and he grins, plants a kiss on her cheek and walks off to no doubt empty the whole bottle all by himself.

“To think that you’re now more than twice the age you were when I first got to know you” muses Hazelle. “What a long way you have come since then.”

She’s right. It has been thirteen years since I first ventured out into the woods by myself to hunt and I got to know Gale. Never would I have thought then that I would still be alive thirteen years later with a Hunger Games victory under my belt, a rebellion that I was the figurehead for, a failed marriage to the boy with the bread and a child by him. It seems like more things have happened in these thirteen years than I thought would happen to me in a lifetime.

Suddenly I’m overcome with sadness as I look out over the people who have gathered to celebrate my birthday. I’m grateful for each and every one of them but there are far too many faces missing. Where is my mother? She called me this morning but would it have killed her to come here and visit me on my twenty-fifth birthday? Gale is not here either, the only person missing from his family except for Rory’s and Honey’s son who is at home with his maternal grandparents. I still see Gale on TV every once in a while and I think he has a new girlfriend but Hazelle is too tactful to bring it up with me and I don’t like to ask. I thought Gale and I would be best friends all our lives but our friendship did not even last thirteen years.

I wish Cinna could have come but he’s too busy in District 8 where he moved just a few months ago to start up his own textile manufacturing business. Portia went with him but I don’t know if they’re business partners or if something else is going on between them. Peeta probably knows. I could ask him but I assume that if something like that is going on in Cinna’s life he would find a way to mention it in casual conversation. He called earlier today and he sent me a gift. A lovely new set of hunting clothes that will be perfect for summer. In the same package there was a gift from Effie, another face I wouldn’t have minded seeing but she doesn’t leave the Capitol anymore. She sent me a poetry book full of what is supposedly timeless classics dating back hundreds of years written by people with names like Wordsworth and Poe. I find the former a fitting name for a poet and I believe Effie does too because in the index she had circled the section with his poems.

The biggest space in the room feels like it’s being taken up by the people who can’t be here because they are no longer in this life. My sister and my father. Rue. The tributes I have mentored. Peeta’s family. Finnick Odair and Boggs and the other members of the Star Squad who didn’t make it. I long for their presence more than I can say. I can almost tell myself they’re all just in the other room, joking with each other and sharing that bottle with Haymitch.

A tiny smile forms on my face when I think of Haymitch. If you had told me, at any point in my life up to the moment I was no longer a tribute but a victor, that I would one day consider Haymitch Abernathy an important member of my family I would have thought you were insane or that you had a really bad sense of humor. The old drunk really has grown on me over the years and he’s almost like the father figure I never had on this side of puberty. He’s sullen, prone to angry outbursts, smelly, sarcastic and never shy about hurling insults my way but he is also somebody I owe my life to. I know we think very much alike and have a deeper understanding of one another than I think even Peeta does. I also know that he cares for me and that he is in my corner whenever I need him to be. In a way I think Peeta and I are his surrogate children, which is a little strange given the far from platonic nature of my relationship with Peeta, but I like to think that the two of us helped save Haymitch in return. We take care of him as best we can, provide companionship for him and with our own experiences as tributes and mentors we have been able to save Haymitch from the solitude of being the only one in Twelve who knows what it’s like to be in the arena. The three of us belong together now, a unit that can never fully be dissolved.

Then of course there’s Peeta. He’s at the other end of the room, a glass of white wine in his hand while he talks to Jolt and Rusty Brooks. He’s let his hair grow to the length he kept it in when we were tributes together and his face is clean shaven, making him look so much like the young boy who once declared his love for me on national television. He means more to me than anyone else, even Victor in a way because Peeta is an integral part of my everyday life. I wish I had the strength to tell him how important he is to me without needing him to say it back to me. I wonder if he knows at all how loved he is and by how many people. Someone like him should be loved by everyone who knows him but for most of his life I worry he’s been under the impression that nobody cares too deeply about him.

He feels my eyes on him and looks over at me. He smiles and raises his glass in a silent toast. I return the smile and mouth the words “thank you” again. He nods, takes a sip of wine and then replies to something Jolt just said.

“Haymitch tells me Peeta is returning to the Capitol in a few days” says Hazelle.

“Hmm?” I say and take my eyes off him.

“What business does he have there that makes him travel there so often?” wonders Hazelle. “I don’t mean to pry but…”

“I think he has a girl” smiles Honey who I never noticed approaching us. “What else could make a guy leave his home for months at a time?”

“Peeta doesn’t have a Capitol girl” protests Posy. “He loves Katniss.”

“They’re not together anymore” remarks Honey. “I think he’s found a new girl. A lot of Capitol girls probably had a crush on him since the Games.”

“He doesn’t have a girlfriend in the Capitol” I say coldly, loathing the very idea. I don’t know Honey very well but I decide I don’t like her very much. Why is she speculating about this in front of me, his ex-wife?

“There must be something special that draws him out there all the time” Honey continues, oblivious of my discomfort.

“If you’re curious about what he does there you’ll have to ask him.”

“You don’t know?” asks Honey skeptically and lifts a glass of wine to her lips.

“I do know but it’s not my business to tell.”

I excuse myself to go check on Haymitch and leave the room. In the kitchen I find him drinking wine from an almost absurdly large glass. When he sees me he lifts the glass in a salute just like Peeta did before but unlike Peeta he then takes several large gulps at once.

“This crowd is not exactly riveting” he announces when he comes up for air. “How you’re not drinking too is beyond me. Get some interesting friends, would you?”

I grab the glass from his hand and take two sips but I’m not very fond of white wine. I give him back the glass and stand next to him with my back to the counter. There’s a comfortable silence in the room and I’m glad to be here for a few moments.

“The boy give you your present yet?” asks Haymitch.

“He did” I say, a grin spreading across my face.

“He’s creative” nods Haymitch. “I’ll give him that.”

I can’t help laughing and with my shoulder I give Haymitch a light nudge. He chuckles and puts an arm around my shoulders.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

 

 

It’s late in the evening when I return to my own silent, dark and empty house. I walk slowly up the stairs, removing my clothes as I go and letting each item lie where it falls. I’m a little tipsy and a little emotional and a lot sleepy. It used to be that my birthday involved ending the night in sexual ecstasy, a tradition of sorts that Peeta and I had for our birthdays. Knowing that there’s going to be nobody in my bed but me tonight makes me feel rather heartsick but at the same time I feel I’ve had a good day and I don’t know that I even have the energy for sex.

I saunter into the bedroom and don’t bother turning on the lights. With a big yawn I grab the bedspread and am just about to yank it off the bed when something catches my eye. I reach over and flick on the light on the nightstand. Sitting on the bed is a large square object that can only be one of Peeta’s framed paintings. It lies face down with a big bow attached and a card is sitting on the back. I grab it and read the message scribbled in Peeta’s handwriting.

“ _You didn’t really think I wasn’t getting you a gift-wrapped gift, too? A bow counts. Love, Peeta._ ”

Quickly I set the card down on the nightstand and with gentle hands grab the frame of the painting. I turn it over slowly and gasp when I see what he has painted. It’s for my eyes only, never to be seen by anybody else, and it’s a crying shame because this might be the best work he’s ever done. It’s a painting full of vivid colors and seeming so full of life. It shows me, kneeling in front of Victor whose little hands hold my braid and whose face studies the hairdo with concentration. I didn’t know Peeta even saw this moment between us. Maybe he didn’t and he just imagined what might have happened when Victor and I were together. Either way it’s a much treasured memory immortalized by Peeta’s talented hands. All the details are so vivid and exact. The way Victor wore the cap, the ashen curl that escaped right by his ear, the way his features are mine and Peeta’s blended together. Our son and me in our one half-hour together.

Without taking my eyes off the painting I reach for the phone and dial Peeta’s number. He answers after three rings and is a little tipsy himself going by the slight slur of his voice.

“Thank you” I say.

“You’re quite welcome” he answers, needing no further explanation as to what I’m thanking him for. “Put it up somewhere if you like. If anybody asks about it just tell them I painted it as wishful thinking way back when.”

“It’s beautiful Peeta. It really is. Thank you so much.”

“Anytime.” He hiccups and I can’t help a little laugh. “Sleep well tonight, old lady.”

“You too” I reply.

I hang up the phone and sit down on the bed, admiring the beautiful painting. This is as close as I’ll ever get to having Victor in my home. It’s not as good as having something that belongs to him but it’s definitely a close second.

It’s also the first real sign that things might end up being okay between Peeta and me. All this time there’s been a strain in our friendship and even though we spend a lot of time together it’s not entirely comfortable. If I know the man I love as well as I think I do working on this painting helped Peeta process feelings about it all and the things I did. Giving it to me signals that he’s ready to move forward for real.

That is almost as good a present as the painting.

 

 

“I would like your opinion on something.”

It’s Wednesday afternoon the week after my birthday and the night before Peeta is returning to the Capitol. We’re sitting together out on the back porch of my house, removing twigs and leaves from the early summer berries I picked in the woods. I had intended to give them to Peeta for his baking but since he’s leaving and won’t be back until Victor goes back to school in the fall I will have to do something else with them. Perhaps I’ll give them to Hazelle and ask her to make jam. These days you can buy jam at the marketplace but it doesn’t taste anywhere near as good as the kind you make at home.

“My opinion on what?” I ask Peeta.

 “What to do about Victor.” He reaches down and grabs another handful of berries.

“In what regard?” I ask and throw more berries in the bowl of cleaned ones.

“I still want to be there for his entire upbringing” answers Peeta. “I don’t think I’m crazy if I guess you want to be there too. The logical solution is to bring him here to Twelve together with his adoptive parents.”

“I take it they’re still not wild about that prospect?”

“They’ll do it if I ask them to” says Peeta calmly. “They know it would be either that or me taking Victor home without them. That’s not the problem I’m trying to solve.”

“What is then?”

“Media exposure.” He sticks a berry in his mouth and tosses the rest into the bowl. Then he grabs a new handful from the bucket at our feet. “So far I’ve been as careful as I can be to try and keep his existence from the media, with Plutarch’s help.”

“Plutarch?” I should have known he had something to do with Victor not ending up on the headlines yet but it doesn’t feel entirely good to hear it. “Does…”

“Does he know? Yes. I had to be really manipulative to get him to help me keep our son a secret but I was successful. If I move him to Twelve it will no longer be possible to contain the truth.”

“It could be” I say. “If Alexandria and Sulla move here with him it will just be another family who moves to Twelve.”

“Yeah and they will be getting daily visits from me and probably you as well. Nothing out of the ordinary about that.”

“The media doesn’t do much reporting from Twelve” I remind him gently. “Not a lot of interesting things go on here. Come to think of it I’m not even sure there are reporters who live here.”

“Do you think it will stay that way if people start noticing us paying so much attention to a child who just moved here from the Capitol?” asks Peeta. His voice is both skeptical and hopeful. “It’s not just the media we need to be concerned about, there’s also idle gossip. Once he’s here we can’t hide him indoors. He has to go to school and we’ll want him to be able to go out and play and explore and have a normal childhood. He looks enough like us that when people see us together someone is going to put two and two together.”

“That could happen” I nod and scoop up another handful of berries from the now half-empty bucket. “On the other hand I think the very idea is so far-fetched for most people that their mind simply won’t go there.”

“I would hope so…” says Peeta. “I just don’t know if I dare risk Victor’s anonymity on it. That’s why I wanted to hear what you think.”

“I don’t know…” I say. I take a pause from cleaning the berries and stare out at the yard in front of me. Spring is at its loveliest this week but I’m barely seeing the blossoming flowers or the bright green shade of new leaves. “I would do just about anything to have him move here but I agree with you that we need to shelter him from the media, at least until he’s older and can handle it.”

“Can anyone really handle it? At any age?”

“He’ll be better at it when he’s seventeen than when he’s seven.”

“I don’t want to wait that long.” With a sigh of frustration he throws a handful of twigs and leaves on the grass. “The Capitol school system is divided into three levels with three years per level. Maybe when he’s about to move up a level it would be a good time to move him…”

“Perhaps.”

“I want to show him the bakery” says Peeta. “Not just the one I have now but the spot where the old one stood. Where I grew up. I want to show him the place where his grandparents and his uncles lived, even if what stands there today is a book store.” A small smile plays on his lips and he grabs yet another fistful of berries. “I want to show him the Meadow, even if it is a burial ground now. I want you to be able to take him out into the woods. I want him to understand District 12 culture even if ours is getting mixed with the cultures of other districts.”

“I would like to take him to the lake” I say, more to myself than to Peeta.

“The one your father took you to when you were little?”

“Yes.” I imagine taking Victor there and making memories with him that mirror the ones I made with my father years ago. “I could teach him how to swim.”

“Maybe teach him how to hunt, too” adds Peeta. “If he’s not too squeamish.”

“If he doesn’t have your thunderously loud stride” I tease.

“Did you know they don’t have wild mockingjays in the Capitol? I bet you anything he’d try to create a melody by teaching different birds different notes and then get really frustrated when _all_ birds just pick up on _all_ notes.”

“Mockingjays as instruments” I say with a nod. “Sounds like something someone ought to try. Might as well be him.”

“Oh, speaking of… I decided to buy him a violin for his birthday. Do you want to get in on that with me?”

I give him a surprised look. His hand, stained from the juices of the berries, reaches up and brushes aside a stand of hair from my cheek. For a moment I almost forget that we’re no longer a couple and just old friends.

“Are you sure?” I ask him. “The whole thing is your idea. You really want to share it?”

“With you? Of course – if you want to. It seems fitting that he should get something from his real mother and father together.”

I smile widely and give his shoulder a light nudge with my own.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. No problem at all.”

 

 

All summer long he is gone. I continue on with my daily activities and try not to care too much that he isn’t around. Once a week he calls me and tells me what’s been going on with Victor and asks what I’m up to. I look forward to these calls all week long but when they are over I feel empty and lonely and heartsick. Mostly we talk about Victor and what he’s up to. We never talk about the subject that’s on my mind constantly.

The subject in question is a woman. Three weeks after Peeta returns to the Capitol I begin seeing pictures of him and this woman. At first I try to think nothing of it, figuring she is probably just a friend or perhaps even somebody advising him on how to handle the situation with Victor and the media, but one morning the comment underneath the photographs claims that what I’m looking at is “ _Peeta Mellark and new girlfriend Cornelia Loft_ ”. My heart sinks to the soles of my shoes and I close the paper shut and throw it in the trash. It’s all I can think about for several hours but by the end of the day I’ve managed to convince myself that the paper simply has it wrong. I know better than anyone how off the mark they can be sometimes and how would Peeta have found himself a girlfriend after only a few weeks? If he’d already met her before then I would have known about it, wouldn’t I?

Then another picture appears, four days later, and this one shows the pair of them kissing. The pain I feel at seeing the photograph is not just emotional but physical. Peeta, my Peeta, pressing his lips against some other woman’s.

It doesn’t help that the woman in question is gorgeous. She’s tall, a few inches taller than him, has beautiful, dark skin and thick hair that reaches all the way down to her thighs in the pictures I’ve seen where she wears it down. The color has obviously been altered because nobody could have hair that actually looks like shimmering gold without the aid of Capitol chemicals. She’s slim and slender with a chest probably two or three sizes larger than my own, a detail that nudges at me because I’ve always had an unspoken insecurity about my rather modest chest-size. Neither Peeta nor Gale ever seemed to mind but I can’t stop myself from picturing Peeta’s hands caressing that woman’s breasts, his mouth closing around her nipple. It makes me sick to my stomach to think about.

I want to ask Peeta about her but I can’t seem to muster up the courage to do so. If he confirms that she is indeed his girlfriend I don’t think I can handle it. Not yet, anyway, I need some time to grieve this discovery. He never mentions her on his own accord and I can’t figure out what that means. Is he refraining from bringing it up because she’s not someone he has serious feelings for? Or does he just want to spare me the heartache? The most likely explanation is that he means to tell me in person when he comes back home – if he does come back home.

In July Cinna comes and visits me for a week but I sadly realize that we don’t have a lot to talk about these days. When he first arrives I consider telling him how I’ve been hurting over the abundance of pictures of Peeta and the woman Cornelia and hear his advice on the matter but I find myself not feeling comfortable talking to him about it. I will always love him as a friend and be grateful for the things he has done for me but it’s another reminder that life goes on and things never stay the same for long.

“We should call each other more often” says Cinna when I see him off at the train station.

“Definitely” I agree. We both know it’s not going to happen.

After he’s left I divide my time between the woods, Haymitch’s house and visits to town. The market has grown bigger in the last year and several new shops have been built. There’s even one that sells painting supplies and I buy a set of colors and some new canvases as a surprise for Peeta when he gets back.

On the morning of Victor’s birthday Peeta calls me and tells me about the violin he’s bought. It’s supposed to be one of the finest kinds, purchased at an exclusive store in the Capitol owned by the people who used to supply the instruments for President Snow’s orchestra. He describes the instrument in detail but I have a hard time imagining it. I’ve never seen a real violin up close, only in pictures, but I’ve heard the lovely music they make. The conversation is brief because he’s heading out to the suburbs to see the birthday boy. When we hang up I almost wish he hadn’t called.

I go out hunting but don’t have any luck. I end up going back to the Victors’ Village and pass the time playing cards with Haymitch. He cheats and I keep calling him on it which means the mood in the room is not at its most cheerful. At least the floor and the rug I’m sitting on are clean and so is the oak coffee table where we lay out our cards. Haymitch is a different story but even Hazelle can’t get him to shower more than twice a week, which in itself is practically a miracle.

“I win again” announces Haymitch with a yawn.

“No you don’t” I object. “You cheated so it doesn’t count.”

“Of course it counts, sweetheart. You and I both know that the best way of winning is to cheat as much as you can.”

“That’s a lovely sentiment” I say dryly and collect the cards to deal another round. “You should work extra as a teacher at the school.”

“Only the most clever can find ways to get around the rules” grins Haymitch.

“Picking up extra cards when you think I can’t see it does not count as being clever.”

Haymitch burps and leans back on the couch while I deal the cards. He’s getting bored, I can tell, but he humors me. I never told him what day my son was born but Peeta must have because he seems to be aware what day today is. Or maybe he can just read it on my face.

“I can’t believe you managed to play hooky from the third Quell by punching out a kid in secret” he says in a tone of disinterested disbelief.

I look up from the deck of cards.

“Only the most clever can find ways to get around the rules” I dryly reply.

Haymitch leans his head back and roars with laughter. I didn’t intend for my comment to be funny but apparently Haymitch found it hilarious.

“And because of your clever tricks to avoid mentoring in the Quell the Capitol is now one violinist richer.”

“Best trade I ever made” I tell him and pick up my cards, setting the deck down in-between us. “Come on. Are we playing or aren’t we?”

He leans forward and grabs his cards, studying them with feigned interest.

“Did you speak with him today?”

"Peeta called this morning.” I place a card on the table and draw a new one from the deck. “He says to tell you not to cheat at cards.”

“Sure he did” snorts Haymitch. He studies his cards carefully, selects one and places it on the table. His eyes are on me as he draws another from the deck. “How are you really holding up today?”

“I’m in a cheating old drunkard’s house playing cards in the middle of the afternoon” I reply. “How do you think I’m holding up?”

“You haven’t made any moves to drink my liquor yet. That suggests you’re not entirely off the deep end.”

I sigh and stare blankly at my cards. It’s hard to put the way I’m feeling to words. The truth is that most of the time but especially today I am jealous of Peeta and I think it’s all so unfair. I can’t begrudge him the privilege of getting to visit Victor whenever he wants and getting to celebrate his birthday together with him but I should have that same privilege. Especially today. I was the one who carried the child for nine months, who gave birth with a lot of pain and who cried myself to sleep that night exactly eight years ago. I have suffered a lot more pain than Peeta when it comes to Victor and I feel that I have earned the right to be there. More and more I’m beginning to hope Peeta will forget about the wishes of the adoptive parents, forget about the media, forget about his maybe-girlfriend and just bring our baby home.

“Sweetheart?” says Haymitch softly.

“I wish I was there” I say, my voice sounding distant. “I wish I could see his face when he gets his violin.”

“Consider yourself blessed you don’t have to be there to hear him try to play it for the first time.”

I laugh, almost against my will. Haymitch gives me a small smile.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to be able to be there. Peeta knows the truth now, the war is over, for what possible reason is our son not at home with us where he belongs?”

“Because you gave him away and he has other parents now” Haymitch gently reminds me. “Also because if you bring him here you make it known to the world that the star-crossed lovers share a son, one born before they were married no less. The media will hound that child. You have lived through far too much trauma to subject your child to such traumatic events.”

“If only I had chosen differently” I say. “The Games are over. We could have raised Victor from his first day and now we would have been a happy family together.”

“President Snow would have had him killed when we were fleeing the Capitol” says Haymitch matter-of-factly and lays another card.

I take his words in. The thought has crossed my mind on the countless occasions when I’ve asked myself What If? Victors weren’t allowed to bring their children when they came to mentor, unless their child was a tribute. Victor would have been in Twelve when the bombs began to fall.

“Do you really believe so?” I ask.

“He would have stood a minor chance at surviving if he was with your mother and sister when the bombs started falling. Then again they might not have been able to flee so quickly with such a small child. Your whole family might have died that day, along with Peeta’s.”

“The rebellion would have been over” I mumble to myself. “For me and for Peeta.”

“Spin it however you like but what kept the child alive was being in the suburbs of the Capitol together with a pair of nobodies whom Snow wouldn’t waste his energy killing.”

“I hope you’re right” I say. “Thanks, Haymitch.”

“I’m not going to pretend I know how bitter it must be to know you can never be a real family with Peeta and that child. The door is still slightly ajar for the possibility of a future family with your bread baker, though. If that’s something you would want.”

I laugh joylessly and toss the cards on the table, fed-up with playing.

“I can’t have anything like that with Peeta. Not anymore.”

“You love him, don’t you?” asks Haymitch carefully.

“Yes.”

“He doesn’t tell me how he feels about you anymore.” Now that the card game is over Haymitch shifts and lays down on the couch, stretching his legs out. “Is there any reason for you to think he doesn’t love you still? You know he’s forgiven you for the whole… secret baby thing.”

“He hasn’t forgiven me entirely. He’s told me he’s over me. And don’t tell me you haven’t seen the pictures of him and that woman.”

“I know all about him and Cornelia” Haymitch confirms.

“Then you know I’ve lost him for good.”

“You still want him, though?”

“Yes” I snarl impatiently.

“Then the way I see it you can either feel sorry for yourself and be heartsick for the rest of your life or you could make him fall in love with you again.”

“Just how am I supposed to do that?” I ask in a surly tone. “And how is that going to help when he’s with somebody else?”

“Beats me. I can’t do _all_ your thinking for you.”

I roll my eyes and get up on my feet. My legs are aching from having been sitting on them for so long and I reach down and rub them gently.

“I don’t think you can make someone love you again once they’ve stopped” I sigh. “I’m glad we can be friends, even.”

“Okay” shrugs Haymitch. “If that’s how you want it to be. I just think you might have some success in winning the boy back if you’re willing to fight for him. Think about it. You never had to do that before; it was always him doing the fighting. Show him that you’re willing to do the same for him and he might come around.”

“Thanks, but I’m not taking love advice from a man who’s been single since almost a decade before I was born.” I reach down and grab my empty game bag. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Not so early next time, okay?”

“It’s almost six in the afternoon.”

Haymitch just yawns for an answer and I throw the bag over my shoulder and leave with a sigh. Outside the air is warm and the sun is still shining, though it is about to set. I walk slowly over the grass, passing by Governor Brooks’ house before reaching my own. My stomach is growling but I have nothing at home that I feel like cooking. Maybe I will go into town and have dinner at one of the taverns. Three have opened in the years after the war and I can easily afford to eat there almost every day. I’ve had dinner at one of them but found it too lonely to be seated by my own table and have somebody waiting on me when all around me people were eating in pairs or groups. I could take Haymitch but by the looks of it he’s going to try and get some sleep before it gets dark.

When I walk inside the house I hear the phone ringing. A cold hand grips my heart. Nobody ever really calls me except for Peeta and I’ve already talked to him today. Something must have happened. I throw the empty game bag on the floor and run to the phone on the kitchen wall, nearly yanking it off its cord.

“Hello?” I breathe into the receiver.

“I was just about to give up and call back later” chuckles a voice on the other end.

“Peeta?”

“You were expecting somebody else?”

“Is everything alright? Did something happen?”

I turn around slightly and grab a hold of the counter with my hand, feeling my heart pounding in my chest.

“Everything is fine” says Peeta with amusement in his voice. “I’m just calling to see if you’d like to have a word with the birthday boy.”

Slowly I release my grip on the counter and a smile spreads on my face. The chance to talk to Victor, on his birthday. To hear his voice and tell him how much I’m thinking of him and to just be able to interact with him on this day. It’s something I’ve been aching to do for eight years but even this morning I didn’t dare to ask Peeta to arrange it for me.

“Katniss?” asks Peeta. “Are you there?”

“Yes” I say. “Yes I’m here. Does he really want to talk to me?”

“Sure he does. Just give me a minute and I’ll go get him.”

He sets the phone down and I hear his footsteps moving further and further away. Quickly I set my own phone down and pull up a chair from the table. With the phone pressed to my ear I sit down and listen to hear my baby’s voice. After about a minute I hear Peeta’s footsteps returning and then somebody grabbing the phone.

“Hello?” says a voice on the other end.

“Hello yourself” I say, managing to sound much calmer than I feel. “Happy birthday, Victor. It’s Katniss.”

“I know” says Victor proudly.

“How is your day?”

“Good” he says and I can practically hear the grin on his voice. Muffled sounds of another voice are heard in the background. “Thank you for the present.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yeah! Want to hear me play?”

“Sure” I say with a little laugh. “I would love to.”

There’s a banging sound as he apparently lets the phone drop. A second later Peeta’s voice is in my ear again.

“Sorry about that. He’s off to get his violin.”

“Sounds like he really loves it” I say with a warm smile, twirling the telephone cord around my finger.

“He does. Question is what you will think when you hear him play it. I assume he’s not bad for a beginner but we’re going to have to get someone to teach him. Oh, here he comes again.”

I hear Victor’s footsteps as he comes running back to the phone. Peeta offers to hold the phone up for him and after another couple of seconds the screeching sound of a boy playing the violin for one of the first times ever fills my ears.

He’s actually a lot better at it than I would have thought. Some notes are painful to the ears but for the most part he seems to intuitively understand how to make the bow move over the strings. He needs training and a lot of it before he can be considered good but for a beginner he fares well. At first I’m lost in listening to my boy playing his birthday gift but then I realize a melody is attempting to take form. It requires a bit of imagination but it does sound like he’s trying to play the Valley Song. The realization makes my heart swell and before I even realize that I’m doing it I have begun to wordlessly sing along to his music. He suddenly stops and grabs the phone again.

“Did you hear me?”

“You were wonderful” I assure him.

“Dad says I need lessons.”

“Only to teach you how to be even better” I say generously.

“Gotta go, we’re having cake. Here’s Dad!”

He hands the phone back to Peeta and I hear his footsteps running out of the room. Peeta chuckles softly as he puts the phone to his own ear.

“I think it’s still something of a fine line whether he prefers sweets or instruments.”

“He really does call you Dad, huh?” I smile.

“He does. I really love it, can’t lie.”

“Peeta” I sigh and lean back against the wall. “I wish you could bring him home. The more I think about it the more I realize it will probably never work but I miss him and I hate it when you’re gone for months. I want you both around, all the time.”

“I know” he says softly. “I would love for it to be the three of us in Twelve but he’s so content here in the outskirts of the Capitol. Then there’s the whole media exposure thing...”

Something in his voice makes me worried.

“Peeta... You’re not thinking of staying in the Capitol, are you? For good, I mean?”

“It crosses my mind every now and then” he admits and I can’t help but wonder if Cornelia Loft has something to do with it. “But no. I belong in Twelve and I don’t like having my picture taken every time I step outside my door.” He lowers his voice a notch. “I’m quite sure Alexandria and Sulla feel that I belong in Twelve, too. They seem less and less enthusiastic every time I show up. I get that I make them nervous and they by no means have to like the biological father of their son, especially when he’s taken to calling me Dad...”

“There’s no way for this situation to end happily for all involved” I sigh. “I knew that from the first moment I made my decision. Of course, at that time I thought the only one who would have an unhappy ending would be me. You would at least be blissfully unaware.”

“I think I’ve made a final decision. For the most part I’m sure that I have but every now and then I revert back to thinking I might change my mind.”

“What’s the decision?”

“I think Victor is going to get to stay here until he’s old enough to make up his own mind.”

I feel my heart sink to the soles of my shoes. Since Peeta came back last year and showed that as much as he wanted his son he would put the child’s wellbeing first I had begun to allow myself to hope. If anyone could find a way to let the two of us be a part in our son’s upbringing without turning his world on its head then it would be Peeta. Fantasies I had never allowed myself before started showing up in my mind. Images of the three of us being a family together here in Twelve. Alexandria and Sulla would be happy to move here, they would live in one of the now empty houses in the Victors’ Village and Victor would essentially have four parents instead of the traditional two. I realize how unobtainable that dream was but I couldn’t stop myself from nurturing the hope. Now I feel any chance of getting to see my child again in person before he is a legal adult slip away from me.

“I could talk to Paylor” says Peeta as if he is reading my mind. “Maybe she will lift your confinement. It’s been five years since the war. You could come here and see him.”

“I’m afraid she’s not likely to be open to that. Not after the stunt I pulled a couple of years ago.”

“Maybe if she knew why you need to be able to come to the Capitol?”

“Do you think she would believe it?”

“Why wouldn’t she? Plutarch did.”

“Plutarch is different.”

“She won’t have to take your word for it” says Peeta. “I still have the paperwork from the adoption.”

“She would just tell you to take the child back and bring him to me” I say with a defeated tone in my voice. “That is the obvious solution. Sulla and Alexandria aren’t his adoptive parents by law anymore; you say where he goes. I don’t think she would understand the reason why we want to let him stay where he feels at home.”

“It’s worth a shot. Look, I’ve got to go, they cut the cake already and one of Alexandria’s friends claims she will just _die_ if she doesn’t get a picture of herself and me and a slice of a birthday cake that I have baked.”

“Okay” I say sadly. “Go. Give our boy a kiss from me, will you?”

“I will. Oh, and Katniss?”

“Yeah?”

“I miss you too.”

He hangs up. I sit there for a moment, a lump in my throat, wondering what he really meant by that. My kitchen seems so silent compared to the commotion that must be going on in Alexandria and Sulla’s kitchen.

I wonder if Cornelia Loft is there as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to post this chapter. It's been crazy around here lately. I hope I'll be able to have the next chapter up much sooner.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't say this enough, but an enormous thank you to everyone who's been reading the story and staying with it for this long and to everyone who takes the time to review. Your support means a lot to me.

Eventually Peeta comes back home. I’m not there to greet him at the train station but as soon as I see smoke coming from his chimney I pack the meat I’ve prepared from today’s kill, some fresh vegetables and a bottle of lemonade that I bought at the market and bring it all over to his house. It’s the first time I’ve set foot there in months. Peeta has preferred us spending time in my house, probably because it is more neutral ground than the place where we lived together as husband and wife. This evening he doesn’t seem to mind my being there much and gives me a kiss on the cheek when he welcomes me inside. Thankfully he’s alone. I’ve been wondering if he would bring Cornelia Loft with him to Twelve but apparently he came by himself.

Together we prepare our meal. The mood between us is surprisingly relaxed and happy and it makes me smile to note that he is obviously glad to see me again. Through teasing banter we make a casserole and I cook some wild rice. Peeta produces some bread from the freezer but it has been there for months and will never taste as good as the freshly baked loaves I’ve gotten so accustomed to over the years. When I teasingly complain that the least he could have done was to bake fresh bread the minute he got home he lightly whacks me on the head with one of the frozen loaves and tells me to behave myself. The grin that accompanies his words tugs at my heartstrings and I can’t help but wonder about what Haymitch said on Victor’s birthday. Could it be possible for me to make Peeta love me again?

Peeta suggests that instead of eating at the kitchen table we move the meal to the sitting room. I’m immediately reminded of the romantic dinners we used to have in front of the fireplace but I’m aware that his suggestion is less about romance and more about practicality. It’s early November and freezing outside. Peeta’s house has not yet warmed up properly since he got home and the only place we can have a meal without shivering in the cold is in front of the open fire.

I carry two glasses in one hand and the bottle of lemonade in the other while Peeta brings the plates and the cutlery. The fire is cackling and it gives the room a very warm and homely feel. Before I sit down on the floor my eyes go to the mantelpiece and catch one of the framed photographs. There are five in total, three of Peeta’s family and one of Victor but those are not the ones I’m looking at. The fifth photograph is our old wedding picture which we kept up the mantelpiece as yet another prop in the charade that was our happily ever after. I walk over and lift it up, looking at it without believing what I’m seeing. Peeta comes back into the room with the casserole and the rice on a tray and notices what I’m doing.

“Dinner’s ready” is all he says.

“I can’t believe you still have this” I reply.

“I was going to throw it out” he admits. “It was the last thing I wanted around after... Then I left for the Capitol and by the time I got back I wasn’t mad at you anymore. I decided to leave it up. I’ve never been much for trying to forget the things in the past that hurt. You can’t change things that have happened so there’s no real point in pretending bad things _didn’t_ happen.”

“We look so... young” I note.

“We look gaudy. I love Portia and Cinna but if I’m ever getting married again I will definitely go with something a little more low-key.”

“Effie told me not to wear white” I reply, trying not to cringe at the idea of him getting married again to someone who isn’t me. “She says it would be _unsuitable_ since everybody knows I’m not a virgin.”

The comment makes Peeta laugh, to my surprise. I set the photograph back on its place but not before wiping away the dust from the mantelpiece with my finger.

“Have dinner” teases Peeta. “Worry about the cleaning later.”

“If you want I could ask Hazelle to come over and freshen this place up for you” I say and take a seat next to him on the floor. “She could probably use the extra money. Posy wants to go to District 5 and ride ponies next summer.”

“You have to go to Five to do that?”

“I guess so.”

He fills up our glasses with lemonade and I use a plastic spoon to scoop up the rice and casserole on both our plates. Peeta breaks off a piece of bread and dips it in the food but when I reach for it he playfully smacks my hand away.

“You said defrosted bread wasn’t good enough for you so no dice.”

“You’re an idiot” I retort and snap the bread away before he can smack my hand again.

“I guess I will have to prepare some dough tonight for the sake of peace in the neighbourhood” he replies, blowing on the steaming hot food on his fork.

“I might declare war on you if you don’t.” I reach for my lemonade and take a sip. It’s cool and fresh and delicious. “Okay, now tell me everything. How are his violin lessons coming? What’s his favourite subject in school? Has he met any little girls with two braids who like to sing at music assembly?”

We eat our meal and Peeta fills me in about what’s new in our son’s life. Hearing him talk about the young boy I can almost picture everything in front of me. It’s funny listening to him, a father weaving loving tales about his child. I can tell how much he misses him and I can tell that he made the most out of their summer together. It hurts to think of all the things we both miss out on with Victor but it helps to know that the child is safe and well taken care of and happy.

Once we have finished with dinner there’s a lull in the conversation. Deciding that I might as well get it over with I arrange my face in the most casual look I can muster and set my knife and fork down on my plate.

“So tell me about this… Cornelia.”

Peeta gives me a surprised look.

“You really want to know?”

The question confirms what I’ve been dreading to hear. There’s definitely more than friendship between the two of them. I try my best not to let my discomfort show and manage to give him a smile.

“Well we’re friends, right?”

“Okay” he says.

He then tells me about her, though he keeps it very superficial, giving me no details on what the depth of his feelings for her might be. I find out that they met the first time he was in the Capitol to visit Victor and that they were just friends at that point but that when he came back this summer their relationship evolved. I listen without betraying my emotions until he assures me that she’s good with Victor. Apparently she’s met him three times, which is not a lot all things considered, and she doesn’t know that he’s Peeta’s child, but this bit of information hurts as much as the thought that Peeta probably has had sex with this woman. I can’t handle knowing that some other woman in Peeta’s life has spent more time with my son than I have.

I can’t keep my poker face any longer. Quickly I get up and gather up the dishes, cutting Peeta off mid-sentence. Careful not to look at him I bring the plates and cutlery to the kitchen and put them in the sink, turning the faucet on. I don’t know if I’m allowed to feel this way about this. Is Peeta a jerk for bringing his girlfriend to see our son when I’m not able to visit him? Or is it his full right to do so? He is Victor’s legal parent and if another woman is going to become an important person in Peeta’s life he can’t keep her and Victor separate from each other.

“Katniss…”

His voice is soft but it still startles me. I didn’t hear him entering the room. I desperately want to hide my emotional turmoil from him so I keep my eyes focused on the dishes and say nothing. For once I don’t want him to be near me but he walks up and grabs a towel to clean the dishes after I’ve washed them.

“I’m sorry” he says. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Never mind” I mutter.

We don’t say anything else about it. We just stand there, silently doing the dishes together. The oddest part is that for the first time in a long while I feel genuine, untainted affection from him in this moment.

 

 

Haymitch’s words about making Peeta love me again come back to me, over and over. Every time I’m in Peeta’s company I feel how strongly I _want_ him to love me again and imagine what it would feel like to be back in his arms. The delusional part of my brain lets me think it might even be better between us now. Peeta no longer sees me as perfect, he knows and acknowledges my flaws, a relationship between us could be more honest for it. If he could love me after what he found out I know we will have something together that will never end. The thought of the days and nights we could have, the life we could build, helps sustain me through the cold November and December days.

These thoughts only come more often when I find out Peeta and Cornelia decided to end things, presumably because she doesn’t want to come to Twelve when he does and neither one of them thinks a long distance relationship could work. None of us have even heard of a couple spending so much time apart from one another. Before the rebellion people had to stay in their districts so long distance relationships didn’t exist.

If I’m honest with myself I know that even if Cornelia is not the new love of Peeta’s life there will still be someone at some point. I know that when that woman comes along it will be my job to set my pain aside and be as happy for him as I can be. Even if it kills me inside I will have to smile and be supportive and pretend to like whatever woman Peeta ends up marrying. No doubt they will have children and I spend many sleepless nights thinking about it, wondering how I will be able to get through seeing another woman carrying his baby, another woman getting to raise her child together with him. Part of me thinks I won’t be able to sit on the sidelines and be a good friend but another part of me is determined to help Peeta have the life I know he wants. He never interfered with my relationship with Gale, never showed his hurt or displayed anything but kindness, and I know I must show him the same courtesy. Oddly enough the only way I might ever be able to prove to Peeta how much he means to me might be by supporting another woman having everything that I want with him.

As winter progresses I also begin to think of something else Haymitch said. Peeta has fought for me but never known me to fight for him. He opened his heart to me and all of Panem when he revealed his affections during his interview and he did so knowing he had nothing to gain by way of a relationship with me. He had no reason to believe I felt anything for him in return and even if I did no more than one of us was going to be alive when the Games were over. After the Games, when he knew I had only been faking my part of our love, he still let me know how he felt. He has never been ashamed of being in love or tried to hide it whereas I can barely even acknowledge it to myself. What do I think is going to happen if I say the words out loud?

Nowadays I know I would have nothing to gain by saying them except for rejection and I’m convinced I would not be able to handle that. Knowing that I’ve lost Peeta’s love still hurts every time I let myself think about it. Professing my feelings and hearing him tell me he doesn’t feel the same would be absolutely heartbreaking and might potentially crush me. So I keep my feelings to myself, desperately reminding myself that when Peeta smiles at me or shows small signs of affection it is only platonic and nothing more than that. Whenever I allow myself to forget it, it just hurts ten times more when I remember.

We continue to grow closer as friends, spending a lot of time together. The earlier tension between us has begun to fade and it more and more feels like old times. I suppose it’s only natural for two people who have shared a life together to fall back into similar roles. Our relationship is strictly non-physical but we still spend many days having breakfast and dinner together, telling each other about our day, going for walks together and sitting in front of the fireplace in the evening. Maybe I oughtn’t to let myself grow close with him again like this. If another woman comes along I will have to make room for her and I will lose him all over again. Right now though I’m willing to accept that risk. If I only have a small amount of time left to be with him this way then I intend to make the most of it. Whatever happens later I will cross that bridge when I get there.

 

 

The first week of February a snowstorm hits, covering the world in white gushes of snow. The wind howls outside the window and it’s dangerous to even set foot out the door. People get lost in storms like this, even when they just walk a yard or two away from their homes. It must be a testament to our previous dalliances with death that neither Peeta nor me let this hinder us and I suspect that Haymitch wouldn’t stay in his house either if he felt he had an errand to run. When the snow first begins to fall and the winds pick up I am in the woods and I hurry home as fast as I possibly can. Peeta’s house is closer than mine so I end up banging on his kitchen door, hollering for him to let me in. He opens and I go tumbling inside, nearly falling over. My face and hands are red from the cold and I can feel tiny scratches on my skin where the icy snow has scraped me.

“Probably best not to go hunting for a few days” says Peeta needlessly.

“You’re a smart guy” I reply and brush snow off the sleeves on my jacket. “It’s really coming down heavy. I’m glad I wasn’t very far off in the woods or I might still be out there.” Then I notice Peeta is dressed in an overcoat, a pair of thick gloves and a hat that Portia once gave him. “Where on earth are you off to?”

“Going to go check on Haymitch.” He grabs a basket sitting on the counter. “Storms like these tend to last for a while. I thought he might like some bread to tie him over.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“The wind is picking up speed by the second. Stay here. It’s much safer.”

“I would have to stay until the storm clears.”

“I have spare bedrooms” he teases and then he’s out the door, a gush of snow blowing in while the door is open.

A stupid smile forms on my face. Snowed in with Peeta for a day or two. Even if it won’t be like old times when we would spend heavy snowstorms cooped up together, dividing our time between preparing and eating meals, taking hot baths together, reading to each other, making love by the fireplace and making love in our bed. We could still have some quality time together and just the thought of sitting by the fireplace with him doing nothing in particular and not having to glance at the clock and wonder when one of us has to get up to leave sounds heavenly. I don’t mind being bored if I get to be bored together with him. In fact I doubt I will even be able to be bored.

I do however mind the idea of spending the rest of the day in my wet clothes. I glance down my body and note that I am soaked through from the heavy snowfall. I play with the idea of simply undressing and letting my clothes dry by the fire but Peeta might not appreciate that when he comes home. Instead I head back out into the storm and hurry to my own house where I quickly pack up a few changes in clothes. Before I leave I make sure all the lights have been turned off but that the heat is still on. I don’t want to return to a freezing cold house in a few days time.

When I head back out into the storm it’s almost too heavy for me to be able to see a thing. Peeta lives three houses down from me but that can be a very far distance in this kind of weather. It takes me almost fifteen minutes to walk that short distance and when I come back inside the house I nearly collapse by the door, panting and shivering.

Peeta appears in the doorway and stares at me with his eyebrows raised.

“What the hell happened to you?”

“I needed a change of clothes” I pant, holding up my bag as evidence.

He looks so thoroughly amused that I realize the obvious, how this all comes across. He invited me to stay so that I wouldn’t have to go back out into the storm and the first thing I do is venture out to pack a bag of clothes for my stay. My cheeks go bright red and I can’t look at him, focusing instead on getting my soaked outerwear off. Peeta manages to somehow contain his laughter and chivalrously walks over and picks up the bag.

“Which bedroom do you want?” he asks. “I’ll take this upstairs for you.”

“No, that’s okay” I say. “I have to change right away, anyway.”

“Okay, well help yourself to whichever room you feel like. I’ll get you something warm to drink for when you come back down.”

“Okay” I say and smile a little.

I grab the bag and walk up the familiar stairs. The upstairs hallway has five different doors, three that lead to bedrooms, one that leads to a bathroom and one that leads to Peeta’s art room. Peeta’s bedroom, _my_ old bedroom, is the first door you see when you come up the stairs. I choose the first one to the right, across the hall from my old room, making me close to him but not right next-door. I don’t want him to feel that I’m imposing.

Inside the bedroom I quickly pull off my wet clothes, leaving only my underwear, and walk out to the bathroom in the hallway where we keep a linen closet. Or, where Peeta keeps a linen closet. It’s still full of fluffy towels and satin bed sheets and I smile at the familiarity. We used to change the sheets and towels every two weeks and when we did we always laid the bedclothes out on the porch to give them some air. Peeta loved crawling in under a cold comforter, claiming it felt fresh and clean. I wasn’t as fond of it but he would always wrap me in his arms and his warmth would keep me from freezing. After our first months together those were the only occasions when we had sex under the covers.

I grab a large grey towel and dry myself. When I’m done I hang it on the metal hanger and flip the switch that keeps the towels nice and warm for when you step out of the shower. I go back to the guest bedroom and pull out a set of clothes. A pair of soft black pants that Effie referred to as yoga pants and a large, warm, red sweater. I’m tempted to go inside Peeta’s bedroom and steal a pair of the thick socks his mother knitted but I don’t know if he still has any and it feels odd to go inside that room. It would probably be stretching the limits of his hospitality a bit too far.

I almost tiptoe down the stairs and walk to the sitting room. Peeta has lit a fire, heated up cinnamon rolls and made hot chocolate. I feel like an excited child and grin widely as I take the blanket he offers me and wrap myself in it. We sit down together on the couch and I immediately reach for the mug of hot chocolate.

“You will never guess what’s going on over at Haymitch’s” says Peeta.

“He let the geese inside the house?” I guess half-heartedly, blowing on the hot beverage.

“He’s got himself a house guest, too.”

“Really?” I say, my eyebrow raised as I take a careful sip.

“Mm-hmm” says Peeta, taking a sip from his own mug. “Hazelle is staying until the storm blows over.”

“Hazelle?” I nearly choke on my chocolate, spitting half of my mouthful back out into the mug. “ _My_ Hazelle?”

“Gale’s, Rory’s, Posy’s...” A grin flashes over Peeta’s face. “Guess he didn’t want her to have to trek all the way home in this weather.”

“Yeah, but...” The mere implications of what this might mean makes me shudder. “I sincerely hope you’re joking with me.”

“Afraid not” says Peeta and reaches for a cinnamon roll. “Oh come on, don’t look so horrified. She’s his housekeeper and he probably doesn’t want her to get lost in the storm. There doesn’t have to be anything _more_ going on.”

He doesn’t add that he invited me over to stay after all, but he might as well have. Somehow I take little solace in the thought that Hazelle might simply be staying there to avoid freezing to death. What would she and Haymitch even have to talk about for days on end? He would terrify her with his odd habits and his uncouth behaviour. Even if she has seen it all before.

“Even if there _is_ something going on between them...” continues Peeta and I groan. “What would be so wrong about that? About time Haymitch found someone, don’t you think?”

“Not _her_ ” I object.

“Why not? She’s clean, she keeps _him_ clean...”

I can’t tell if he’s serious or just having fun on my expense so I smack him with a pillow which nearly causes him to spill his chocolate.

“We’re going to be stuck here together until this storm blows over so try not to make me want to bludgeon you.”

“You know who else are stuck together until this storm blows over? Ow, don’t hit me!”

He gets up and moves over to the armchair instead to get away from my reach and I regret resorting to physical demonstrations of frustration. He takes another bite from his cinnamon roll and talks with his mouth full.

“Gale would just love having Haymitch as his new father.”

“Peeta seriously!” I groan. “One more word and I am out the door, damn the storm.”

“Wouldn’t want that” smirks Peeta and leans over to the table to pick up his mug. “Fine, I’ll stop teasing. I just don’t get why it bothers you.”

“Because it’s weird.”

“But why? It’s not like Haymitch is a virgin. He’s done those... Okay, seriously, now you’re resorting to throwing things?”

“I’m about to be throwing _up_. How do you even know that about him?”

Peeta shrugs.

“He’s told me stuff. About his girlfriend, the one he had when he went into the arena. Nothing too explicit.”

“You guys talk about sex?” I ask, wrinkling my nose and deciding I definitely won’t be wanting my pastry.

“Oh yeah, I’ve told him intimate details about you” snorts Peeta with rolling eyes. “No, we’ve just had some simple talks. He was generous enough to share their primitive methods of birth control, like some weird mentor form of pep talk before our wedding.”

“Fantastic” I sigh.

“Well, it was better than the talk I got from Effie. Hers did not include methods of birth control, unless you count abstinence.”

“You got a talk from Effie?” I ask sceptically and pull my feet up underneath me.

“Yeah. Didn’t you?” asks Peeta, taking the last bite from his cinnamon roll.

“No.”

“I guess she figured you wouldn’t let me do anything you weren’t fine with. I, on the other hand, was apparently a closeted pervert in her mind. I’ve blocked out most of what she said but it was really weird. Be thankful you never had to hear her utter the word _coitus_.”

“You know, Peeta, this might be the oddest conversation we’ve ever had” I remark. “I’m about ready to be done with it. How about you?”

“Did you know that Johanna used to have a thing for Milton, that bald mentor from District 3?”

“Oh just shut up!”

He laughs and I can’t tell if he’s just all-out making fun of me at this point. I roll my eyes and sigh, unable to decide if this bodes for a fun snowstorm or if I will be praying for the snow to stop falling long before dinner.

 

 

The following day the snow is still falling heavily and the wind seems to be howling even louder. Peeta decides we might as well spend the day cooking something worthwhile and begins Project Pot Roast which apparently needs several hours to cook. I’m wholeheartedly against having anything on the stove for more than thirty minutes without then getting to eat it and having to just see it and smell it and know that I can’t taste it for another six hours makes me cranky.

We spend the day playing cards, adding a few things to the memorial book and talking about things we used to do when we were little and the snow had just fallen. Peeta tells me about how he and his brothers had a sled they used to be outside playing with. Prim and I always thought sleds seemed like so much fun but we never had one, always having to resort to jealously watching merchant children playing with theirs.

After dinner, which does taste lovely even though I still think having to wait six hours is excessive, we coop up in the sitting room. I wrap myself in a cocoon of blankets and sit down on the armchair with a book. Peeta sits on the couch with a sketchpad, pencils and some colours. For a long while the only sounds we hear are the howling of the wind, the cackling of the fire and pencil against paper.

The book is not particularly interesting. Soon I find myself glancing up from the pages, allowing myself little glimpses of the man who sits on the couch just a few yards away from me. I love watching Peeta sketch. His eyes are so focused, his face so handsome. His hair seems to catch the light from the fire and so do his eyes. After a while I find myself completely mesmerised by the sight, the book slowly sinking down into my lap while I drop the pretence of reading it. Eventually Peeta catches on to my staring and looks up.

“What?” he asks, confused.

“I love you.”

The words come spontaneously but not surprisingly. At least not to me. I’ve been thinking for a while now that I should just say it to him, even if I can’t expect anything good in return. He deserves to hear it, no matter what he feels for me. It’s not exactly fighting for him but it is opening up and taking the chance of being vulnerable. It’s me letting him know that in spite of everything I’ve done I really do love him.

Peeta looks like I just dropped a bucket of water on him. He stares at me in shock for several seconds. Then an almost bashful smile appears on his face and I hold my breath to see what he will do. His eyes return to his sketchpad. I watch him pull off the sheet he had been working on and let it float to the floor. He begins working on a new sketch, a goofy smile on his face all the while. But he doesn’t say anything to me back.

I wonder if I should say something more. Elaborate or apologise or talk about the weather. I decide against it. It’s his time to say something now. His silence is probably preferable to any of the things he would like to say to me, anyway, so I pick the book back up and try as hard as I can to care what is on the pages.

We sit like that for what must be ten or fifteen minutes. Then Peeta blows on the sketch, rips it from the pad and walks over to me. I look up at him, my heart pounding. He’s still smiling, that must be a good sign.

“You’ve really cocooned yourself” he comments and sits down on the armrest, leaning back and wrapping an arm over the back of the chair to support himself.

He holds the sketch so that I can see it. It’s me, drawn just the way I’m sitting right now. My eyes in the sketch are looking right at the person viewing it, which really means looking right at Peeta. I don’t know what to make of it so I look up at him.

“You drew me.”

“It’s corny...” says Peeta, sounding a little embarrassed. “It’s just, I’ve been waiting my whole life to hear you say those words to me and mean them. I wanted to immortalise the way you looked when you said it.”

“It’s not corny” I mumble. “It’s sweet.”

He leans over and puts the sketch down on the coffee table. Then he leans back and is kind enough to put an end to my confusion.

“It goes without saying but I love you too.”

It ends my confusion but it doesn’t seem comprehensible. I stare into his eyes, looking for any sign that he might be insincere. Or drunk.

“Do you mean that?”

“Yeah, of course I do” he says with the hint of a chuckle. “I always have. I don’t know how to not be in love with you.” He grimaces. “Please tell me that when you just said what you said you didn’t mean it in a platonic you’re-a-great-buddy kind of way.”

“No. I meant it in a... I-wake-up-every-day-wondering-how-I’m-going-to-be-able-to-live-without-you way” I answer, having no clue where I’m finding the words. “I just don’t get how... After what I did... You said you weren’t...”

His fingertips on my cheek make me fall silent. We stare at each other for a moment, me probably looking dumbfounded and Peeta still sporting that smile. Then he begins to lean in to me and I respond, meeting him halfway for a soft kiss that makes me feel like my heart stops and then beats a million beats per minute. It’s a very simple kiss but then he pulls back a little, smiles lovingly and kisses me again. This time I open my mouth and welcome his tongue inside, my arm reflexively reaching up to wrap around his neck. We part again and he rests his forehead to mine.

“I was mad at you” he says. “Madder than you’ll ever know. For a while there that was the only thing I felt in connotation to you. I don’t love you quite the same way now as I did before but I don’t know if that’s good or bad. I don’t ignore your negative sides anymore. I accept them as part of you instead of pretending they don’t exist at all.”

“How can you still feel that way about me?” I ask, my hand reaching up and caressing his cheek, feeling the beginnings of a stubble there.

“Because all the things that made me fall in love with you are still there. You hurt me badly but you’re not a bad person. And, I mean... it’s love. It’s a feeling; I can’t control it. I’ve often wished I could because it’s often hurt to love you but no matter what either one of us does I think I will be in love with you until I die. That’s why I sometimes think I’d rather be alone than with somebody else. I can’t get over you, try as I may.”

I’m not sure if I should interpret what he’s saying as romantic or insulting or neither. I’m not even sure what this means for us. Before he can say something to indicate that he’s going to love me forever but it will be mostly against his own will and we should try to stay away from one another I reach up and kiss him again, deeply this time. He responds and I feel like in this moment nothing in the world matters other than him and what we’re doing.

“Make some room, would you?” he says when the kiss ends.

I move to oblige him but I’m wrapped in too many blankets and can’t seem to move anywhere. With a frustrated growl I begin to untangle myself from my cocoon while Peeta laughs good-naturedly and tries his best to help me. Once I’m free from the constraints of the blankets I nudge to the side, making just enough room for him to slide down next to me on the armchair. He does and then grabs a blanket which he wraps loosely around us. I curl up to him, pleased beyond words that I can be near him and touch him again. I rest my head on his shoulder for a second and breathe in the smell of him, then I decide I want another kiss. He’s more than happy to oblige but when my hand begins to trail down his body, aiming for his belt, he grabs my hand and stops me.

“Let’s not.”

“Why?”

He hesitates before he answers.

“I love you. I do. You have no idea how good it feels to sit here with you like this, after hearing you say you love me too.” He looks down at our hands. “That said, I... I’m not ready for anything too intense. I don’t... know if I trust you. I should have probably thought of that before I started to kiss you but I...”

“Why don’t you trust me?” I ask, suddenly annoyed.

“You’ve given me no reason to” he says frankly and I pull away as much as I can in our confined space. “I believed you in the arena and it was all a lie. We had to marry each other and for a long time you acted like you felt something for me but when it was your choice you picked Gale over me. You came back and you acted like you wanted me but you couldn’t tell me you _loved_ me. Then I found out you had kept my son from me. That is a lot to take, Katniss. Forgiveness is easy but learning to trust somebody again, that takes time. I need... for my heart to be able to feel safe with you before I can be in a real relationship with you.”

“You _can_ trust me” I assure him. “I want you and nobody else. I love you. I’ve loved you for years and all I’ve wanted is to be with you.”

“Hearing you say it is not enough” says Peeta gently. “It’s something you have to help me learn how to feel again.”

“I don’t know how” I admit.

“Neither do I.”

We look into each other’s eyes for a few minutes, neither of us speaking. He looks sad now and I know I can’t hide the disappointment from my own face. Then I decide to hell with it. If he needs me to fight for him I’m going to find some way to do just that, and in the meantime I am not going to let him forget how amazing we are together.

“Well while we’re figuring this out I’m going to continue kissing you” I say. “I’ve always been better with showing my feelings than expressing them in words, anyway.”

I pull him close for another kiss and he doesn’t protest, in fact he’s a willing participant. I can see that he wants to trust me again, wants to be with me, and perhaps all he needs is some time. Things have always been so rushed with us. In the arena we had to go from nothing to full force even as he lay dying from sepsis. When we got married we went from barely speaking to having a sexual relationship in the span of a few days. When I came back to him after the war he wanted to take it slow but I had him in bed with me after just a few days. This time I can wait. All I ask is to know that he still loves me and to be able to physically express my love and desire for him, even if it’s just through kisses and lighter caresses.

 

 

When it’s time for bed we walk together up the stairs, Peeta two steps ahead of me. We reach the upstairs hallway and stand there looking at each other. I want him to ask me to come inside his bedroom and spend the night in bed with him. We did that a lot before we were married and with one exception it was always perfectly chaste. Maybe he doesn’t trust himself, or me, because he just gives me a smile, a peck on the lips and bids me good night. I walk over to the guest bedroom and stop at the door, sharing one more look with him before I go inside.

The room is nice and warm, contrasting with the storm that rages outside the window. I step out of my clothes and pull on a long, warm nightgown. I walk over to the window to pull the blinders down and stop to look outside. I can’t see anything at all in the darkness and the storm. Peeta and I are secluded in our own little bubble. I can’t help the smile that plays on my lips and my mind replays his kisses, his gentle hands on my cheeks and above all his words of love. He still tastes the same, still kisses the same. When our lips meet it’s like we’ve never been doing anything else than kissing and the hunger burns so achingly inside of me that I fear it might consume me.

A yawn passes over my lips as I walk to the bed and pull the bedspread off. I long for Peeta to be here and hold me while the storm rages outside. I want us to share a pillow and talk through the night. I want his embrace to keep me safe while I sleep. Instead I climb in alone and reach over to turn off the lights, nothing to accompany me but the sound of the storm and the memory of the events that transpired earlier tonight.

I don’t know for how long I’ve slept when I’m shaken from my night time terrors by Peeta’s arms. A shriek escapes me and I open my eyes, finding Peeta’s looking back at me. I can’t even remember what I dreamt but the gripping fear almost paralyses me.

“It’s alright, Katniss” says Peeta. “You’re safe. It was just a dream.”

I cling to him and feel my whole body trembling. He holds me close and shushes me gently. He must have heard me screaming from his bedroom. I must have been loud if I managed to wake him up. I wonder why I can’t remember what I dreamt.

“Stay with me” I whisper. “Don’t go.”

“I won’t.”

He pries himself away from my grip and climbs under the covers. I immediately curl into him and take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of him. There’s always a certain smell about him when he’s been sleeping. It was the same thing with Gale and I’ve never understood that. Do all boys have a certain smell when they sleep?

“Pathetic attempt at getting me into bed with you” murmurs Peeta in my ear.

I can’t stop myself from laughing. He kisses the top of my head and holds me closer. I fall back asleep almost instantly, exhausted from the day’s events and from the terror of whatever I was dreaming.

When I wake up in the morning Peeta is still there, his arms wrapped around me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to be mean enough not to give an "official" answer to what Peeta's relationship with Cornelia really was. You're free to interpret it however you want to. Maybe it was genuine, maybe it was an official excuse to be in the Capitol, maybe he really wanted to try and have something with someone else but couldn't. Or maybe something else entirely. Whatever version works best for you =)
> 
> With that I'm off to work and then off to see "Catching Fire" tonight. Here's hoping it's as good as the Rotten Tomatoes rating seems to indicate.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally I read through every chapter before I post it and make adjustments. For various reasons I haven't done that with this chapter and I pretty much just finished it so I hope it's not super odd.

It’s a slow process, making Peeta trust me with his heart again. Made even slower because I don’t have the first idea how to do this. I don’t know how to make somebody feel safe in a relationship because I’ve never had to feel unsafe in any of mine. So I end up just being there with Peeta, letting him know that I won’t go anywhere. I don’t know if it’s the right strategy or not but it’s the only one I can come up with.

We spend as much time as we can together. Peeta runs his bakery and I spend my days out in the woods or bartering at the market. Every morning we have breakfast together, every evening we have dinner together but we never spend the night at each other’s houses once the blizzard has ended. There is kissing, there is touching but Peeta never takes it further than that and even though I’m so frustrated that I occasionally spend hours firing arrows into a tree just to get some form of release I never try to initiate anything sexual either. It’s better to let him decide when he’s ready.

When summer is around the corner and the Capitol children are about to get out of school Peeta returns to the city. I feel utterly abandoned and barely talk to him for a week before he leaves but he seems to take it in his stride. While he’s gone we talk on the phone almost every day and over the course of the summer months I begin to hear a tone of dejected sadness in his voice when he talks about our son. I think he’s made up his mind for good now that he will let Victor stay with his adoptive parents until he’s old enough to make a choice for himself, and even then it’s not likely that he will want to leave the mother and father who have taken care of him from day one in order to move to a new place and be with a father he only sees a few months over the year and a mother he’s only met once.

As soon as Victor is back in school Peeta comes back home. I don’t meet up with him at the train station since our odd relationship is not public knowledge at this point. Instead I wait in his house and welcome him with hungry kisses and professions of how much I’ve missed him.

I never dare to ask if he’s beginning to feel safe with me yet. When Gale comes to Twelve for a week long stay and we’re all for some reason gathered at Haymitch’s house for dinner I’m actually glad my former best friend is there. It’s selfish and probably makes me a horrible person but I welcome the opportunity to subtly show Peeta that I only have eyes for him. Gale tries to have a word with me in private but I gently rebuff him. I don’t know what else we have to say to each other anymore. Our friendship was not able to recover from a relationship that should never have happened in the first place and at this point I don’t miss him as a friend anymore. Peeta is my best friend now, oddly with Haymitch as the runner-up. I probably should branch out and get myself some female friends but since I lost Madge and Prim I haven’t felt much need for friendly female company.

 

 

Early one November morning I get a call from Peeta telling me he won’t be over for breakfast because he’s caught some stomach bug that has him down for the count. We only talk for about a minute because then he needs to go to the bathroom but he tells me he’ll call me when he’s feeling better again.

When I’ve hung up the phone I let my eyes travel to my game bag sitting by the kitchen door. I had planned on going hunting today like I usually do but perhaps that might not be the best idea. If Peeta has the stomach flu he might have given it to me already, in which case I’ll be starting to feel rather poorly myself before long. I don’t want to be out in the woods when that happens.

I decide there are better ways I can spend my time today. I open my refrigerator and grab an apple, letting it suffice as breakfast, and begin to chew on it while I head out the door and make my way into town. It’s early morning and not a lot of people are out yet. Peeta always comes over with breakfast early so that he can go get bread in the oven before the bakery opens at six-thirty. I head towards the Meadow and make my way to a small glade I know of where I might still be able to find berries even at this time of year. What I find is not much, but at least it’s something, and I pick every last berry that I find and put them in a small leather pouch. While I’m out there I pick a few herbs that grow in the vicinity and then head back towards town. It’s just after six in the morning and nothing is open yet but I know that doesn’t mean that everybody is asleep. Gaia, the woman who runs the apothecary shop, is always up before six thanks to her three children, each born within a year of each other and the youngest being only seven months old. Whenever I see her these days she complains about lack of sleep but I can’t really muster up any sympathy when it was her own choice to have so many children so fast. These days people have access to birth control and an apothecary would know ways to terminate a pregnancy anyway.

I knock on her door and while I wait for her to open I take turns lifting one foot and smacking it into the other in an effort to garner some heat. I need new boots for winter. My current pair is from the winter when I was with Gale and they’re really worn out by now. No snow has fallen yet this year but there is frost on the ground and each breath comes out in a white cloud. I’m beginning to think I should start wearing a hat out in the woods, my ears freezing in the cold, but I discard the thought. I’ve had the same thought at least a thousand times over the years but I always disregard it because I know I won’t be able to hear properly if my ears are covered.

Finally Gaia opens the door, looking worse for wear and with her youngest child on her hip. She manages a small smile when she sees me and seems to want to ignore the shrieks and yells from the two older children inside the house.

“Katniss” she says. “How good to see you. I’m sorry it took me a moment to open the door. Heather wants to eat from Herb’s plate today and of course he won’t agree to that and...” She sighs heavily. “Sometimes I think you’re wise for never having children.” Then she makes a face. “Never mind. Ignore that. I’m just...”

“Really tired” I finish for her, knowing the tune well by now. “I brought some herbs for you, fresh from the woods.” I hold up the three small bags of herbs. “Probably the last before the frost kills them all or the snows begin to fall.”

“That’s great” says Gaia, trying to muster enthusiasm while adjusting her grip on her baby. “I don’t have any money to give you right now, though. Marley took most of what we have with him when he left for District Eleven last week. He’s there to buy some plants we don’t have here.”

“Oh don’t worry about money” I say quickly. “You could trade with me instead.”

“What do you need?” she asks.

“Do you still have those fluid replacements you used to sell?” I remember buying them from her a few years ago in an attempt to keep Haymitch hydrated in the middle of summer when he would drink little other than alcohol.

“I have some” she nods. “Though not enough to match the value of the herbs.” She turns her head and sharply tells her two oldest children to behave but I doubt they hear her over their private screaming match over the plate. “Anything else I can get you?”

“Maybe you can just owe me?” I suggest, feeling eager to get out of there as soon as possible. I might be a mother myself but the amount of noise her children are making is starting to irritate me.

“Okay” she says with a tired sigh. “Wait here, I’ll go get it for you.”

She disappears and I hear her chastising Heather and Herb, then letting out a loud sigh when baby Holly begins to cry. It takes her about ten minutes to put away the herbs I gave her, jot down how much she still owes me for them, and bring me the fluid replacements. I take the jar containing seven small tablets and give her a nod and a thanks before leaving as fast as I can.

Instead of going home I go straight to Peeta’s house, using the key he gave me to get inside. The house feels oddly abandoned and I’m guessing Peeta hasn’t been downstairs at all today. I walk inside the kitchen and search through his refrigerator and kitchen cabinets to see what he has by way of food. Then I take a glass, drop one of the tablets Gaia gave me into it and fill it up with water. I find a spoon to stir it with and quietly head up the stairs, purposely avoiding the step I know always creaks, not wanting to wake Peeta if he’s managed to fall asleep.

I knock on the door very gently and then take half a second to draw a breath before I open the door. I don’t think I’ve been inside this bedroom since the night Peeta found out about Victor. I push the feeling aside and open the door. Peeta’s in bed, curled up in a foetal position with a bucket on the floor right by the bed. He looks pale and rather miserable but lifts himself up a little when he sees me.

“Katniss? What are you doing here? No, stop, don’t come any closer. I don’t want to give this to you.”

“Never mind that” I say and sit down on the bed beside him, careful not to spill any of the liquid from the glass. “You might have given it to me already.”

“These bugs hit rather fast and I haven’t seen you since yesterday morning” he points out. He had a lot of errands to run yesterday so we never met up in the evening.

“I don’t care if you give it to me now” I tell him and run my hand through his bangs. “You’re sick and I’m here to help.”

“Help how?” he groans. “Tell me your mother has a quick cure for this thing.”

“I’m afraid not. I did, however, get you fluid replacements. You’ll need them. Drink up, but do it slowly. Otherwise it’s just going to come back again.”

“Seriously” he moans, taking the glass but not looking happy about it. “You really want to be here for this? This is not exactly a glamorous disease.”

“Are you embarrassed that I might see you vomit?” I ask teasingly.

“Vomiting is not the only thing happening” he sighs, taking a small sip from the glass and making a disgusted face. “This is vile.”

“I don’t care. One sip every few minutes.”

“Be kind to me. I’m sick.”

I lean in and give him a kiss on the forehead, ignoring his protesting noises. Then I get up and walk over to the window, opening it to let some fresh air in. Peeta puts the glass down on the nightstand and curls up again, closing his eyes with a small sigh. I leave him alone for a while and head down the stairs to get something for myself to eat. That one apple didn’t suffice for very long. While I’m down in the kitchen I use a fork to squash the berries on a small plate which I then put in the fridge. When Peeta feels a little better I’m going to try to make him eat some of it.

I get back upstairs just in time to see him empty whatever’s in his stomach into the bucket. I need to take a moment to steady myself, having always had a hard time with the smell of vomit. I wait until he’s done and then I walk up to him, breathing through my mouth.

“Don’t” he says when I reach for the bucket. “It’s gross.”

“Don’t be silly” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “You should stay in bed. I’ll go empty this thing.”

“Katniss...”

“Protest all you want. I’m pretty sure I can take you in a fight under current circumstances. Peeta you’ve taken care of me before when I’ve been sick. This is no different.”

“It’s a lot different” argues Peeta. “This sickness is _gross_.”

“Don’t care.”

I grab the bucket and bring it with me to the bathroom. After that he doesn’t protest again, though I can tell he’s really uncomfortable letting me see him like this. It’s only towards the end of the day, when he’s slowly beginning to feel better, that he seems to relax. He eats the berries, though most of it comes back up again, and by the time I’ve had my dinner he manages to make his way downstairs and curl up on the couch with his head on my lap and his new best friend the bucket by my feet.

“I can’t believe I let you stay here and take care of me for this” he groans.

“I can’t believe you’d thought I wouldn’t show up” I counter, stroking his hair gently.

“This is hardly romantic” he points out, peering up at me. “In fact I bet there are few things as effective to turn someone off than letting them be around when you’ve got this disease.”

“Luckily I’m not just in it for the sex” I reply, causing him to laugh a little.

A small smile plays on my lips as he closes his eyes and tries to get some more rest. He’s right, being here with him today has hardly been romantic but I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else. I want to be with him whether he’s sick or healthy and I hope he’s beginning to realize that.

 

 

A few weeks later I bring Peeta with me to the old cabin out by the lake. I’ve told him about the lake a few times before but I’ve never brought him along to see it, mostly because it’s a rather long walk and I’ve never known him to be the biggest fan of hiking through the woods. I’m not sure why I bring him out here now, in the middle of winter, when you see very little of the beauty of the place. We sit together on a fallen tree trunk and I see him shivering slightly in the cold afternoon.

“So this is where your father used to take you?” he then says.

“It is” I nod. “He taught me how to swim in the lake... Showed me where to find katniss plants... Some of my favourite memories from childhood took place out here.” I lean forward and wrap my arms around myself in an effort to preserve heat.

“Ever been out here with Gale?” asks Peeta.

“A few times.”

He’s quiet for a moment, his eyes trailing a flock of geese late for their travel south.

“We’ve never really talked about this but one of the things that hurt me the most was that Gale knew and I didn’t.”

“Knew what?”

He gives me a look.

“About Victor.”

“Oh.” I avert my eyes. “If it makes you feel any better I wasn’t planning on telling him either. Not until Snow said I needed his consent to give the baby away. Otherwise I would have never told him.” I straighten my back and try to keep back a sigh. I could so easily leave it at that but if I am ever to win back Peeta’s trust I need to be completely honest, even with the details that might hurt him. “I honestly don’t know if I could have done it without him. It was an easier burden to bear when I didn’t have to bear it alone and he was such a great support when I was pregnant in the Capitol.”

Peeta is quiet for a moment.

“And during the birth? Was he a great support then, too?”

“He was” I admit. “But... I... I longed for you. You don’t have to believe that it’s true but it is. I was so grateful that he was there but I would have rather had you.” I shrug a shoulder. “Not that it matters now anyway. I’ve done some horrible things to you but I’ve treated him poorly too. He deserves much better than what he got for agreeing to take the blame for knocking me up and for supporting me throughout.”

Peeta doesn’t seem to be paying attention to what I’m saying anymore. He looks at me with something resembling trepidation.

“Katniss did he see him?”

“Yes”. There’s no point in lying about that either.

“Did he hold him?”

“I... I honestly couldn’t tell you. I had my eyes closed once he had been born. Though I assume they had him hold him, yes.”

Peeta lets out a trembling breath, a white cloud leaving his mouth. He looks so sad and I wonder how me bringing him to my father’s lake turned into something like this.

“It’s not fair” says Peeta.

“No” I agree. “It’s not.”

“I just... You gave away my son and... Gale got to be there to watch the pregnancy progress. He got to feel the baby kick, stuff like that, right? He got to be there when Victor was born and he got to hold my son years before I even knew I had one.” He swallows hard. “I’m having a really hard time accepting that.”

“You don’t have to accept it” I say after a moment. “You can be as mad as you want to be about that. By rights it should have been you and not Gale who saw him first and held him first. But it wasn’t easy on Gale either. He wanted to be with me and there he was, holding my hand while I gave birth to your baby, seeing a baby boy you had given me. I put you both through a lot of pain.”

“It is what it is” says Peeta. He’s silent for a long time and I almost begin to wonder if we’re taking several steps back in this moment. Then he speaks again and some of the tension is broken. “God this place is beautiful. Just look at the frost and snow on those trees over there. Or how the sun is beginning to set over the lake.” He looks at me again. “I hope you’ll be able to bring Victor here sometime. Show him all of this, show him where katniss grows, teach him how to swim. Just, you know, not in the month of November.”

I chuckle and he gives me a small smile.

“That would be great” I agree.

“Katniss I don’t want you to think I’m not aware of how much you’ve suffered, too. I’ve spent so much more time with our son than you have.”

I nod, trying not to well up at the thought.

“It’s fine” I lie. “I knew what I was agreeing to. I never thought I would ever get to see him. But I really wish I hadn’t taken you away from him. He should have gotten to know his father from the very start.”

“He knows me now” says Peeta softly and wraps an arm around me. I lean in and rest my head on his shoulder. “Someday he’ll know you, too.”

“Do you honestly believe that?”

“I do. He’s curious about you. Asks me questions every now and then.”

“Yeah?” I perk up. “Like what?”

“All sorts of things” shrugs Peeta. “The older he gets the more questions he has. About things you have in common, stuff like that.”

A smile spreads across my face at the thought of my baby wanting to know things like that about me, but even more at the thought of there being somebody to answer those questions for him. I used to wonder if the adoptive parents would ever tell my child they weren’t the biological parents and if the child would wonder about me. I’ve often worried that my baby would grow up hating me, feeling abandoned by me, wondering why I didn’t want him. Now Victor has Peeta who can tell him anything he wants to know about me, and who can tell him I want him more than anything else in the world even though I gave him up. Peeta will be able to find the right way to tell our son that I gave him away because I love him, not because I don’t.

“I’m glad Victor has you in his life” I say. “Really, really glad.”

“Yeah?” Peeta gives me a crooked smile. “You didn’t seem so happy about it when I first sought him out.”

“I was worried you were going to disrupt his world” I mutter, looking down at my hands. There’s a hole in my glove, right by the nail on my left pinkie, and I can feel the cold air seeping in through it. “And I guess if I’m to be completely honest I sometimes wonder if he would have been better off never knowing he was adopted and never meeting us. For the most part though I’m thankful that the two of you could get to know each other and that his life hasn’t been a complete mess.”

“You didn’t sacrifice motherhood in vain” says Peeta softly, moving his arm from around my shoulders and letting it rest on my thigh. “He’s alive. He’s happy.”

“What about you?” I ask, equally as soft. “Are you happy?”

“I’m starting to be.”

He leans in and places a gentle kiss on my lips. I sigh heavily and lean against his chest, his arm moving back to around my shoulders, pressing me closer. We sit like that for a while, saying nothing, watching the sun slowly set over the lake. I feel almost peaceful, relieved that we were able to talk about such a sensitive subject without ending up in a fight.

“One thing, though...” says Peeta and I look up at him with a bit of worry. “How exactly are we supposed to find our way back home when the sun will have set in about fifteen minutes?”

I can’t stop myself from laughing. I get up from where I’m sitting and offer him my hand. I lead him to the old cabin and we sit down in front of the fireplace and build a fire together.

 

 

I’ve gotten so used to Peeta showing up at my house ever morning to have breakfast that the morning when he doesn’t come I immediately grow concerned. An hour after the time he usually shows up he hasn’t made an appearance or called me to explain his absence. Acting on some strange instinct I grab my bow and quiver before I hurry out the door, even though I’m not sure what I intend to do with the weapon exactly. Shoot a robber who might have broken into Peeta’s house?

I don’t bother knocking, taking care to be quiet as I walk inside the house, in case Peeta is sick and needs his sleep. I hear his voice coming from the kitchen and I freeze. I can’t make out what he’s saying but he doesn’t sound distressed or upset. Frowning from annoyance over not being able to make sense of this I walk towards the kitchen and push the door open with my foot.

I almost drop my bow when I see Johanna Mason flung up on the kitchen counter, the one Peeta never let me sit on, eating a still fresh-from-the-oven warm cheese bun with marmalade dripping down her fingers. For the fraction of a second she looks surprised to see me but then a challenging look comes over her face.

Peeta, who’s standing by the stove stirring something in a pot, turns his head and looks surprised to see me as well. I note that he doesn’t look apologetic even though he ought to for standing me up for breakfast without a word.

“Well if it isn’t the baby mama herself” says Johanna dryly, kindly sparing me the question of whether or not she knows. “Armed and ready. Planning on shooting squirrels in Peeta’s kitchen or have your social skills just dropped that low?” She turns to Peeta but keeps her eyes on me, a decidedly unfriendly glow in them. “If it’s option A you really need to get yourself a cat or something.”

“Johanna” I mutter by way of greeting, setting my bow down on the floor, leaned against a counter. Then I turn to Peeta. I’m too confused to know what to say to Johanna so I focus on the question I do have for him. “You didn’t call me to tell me you wouldn’t be over for breakfast.”

“Yeah” nods Johanna empathically. “Let’s all take a moment to think of how _Peeta_ has withheld information from _you_.”

A sudden rush of anger floods through me and I turn to her with venom in my eyes.

“Shut up! What do you even _know_ about it?”

“Everything” says Johanna icily.

I feel a cold chill run down my spine as I wonder what she really means by that. Did she arrive here yesterday after Peeta went back to his house and he told her then? Or has she known for quite some time? I never really asked myself whether or not Peeta might have told other people about Victor and about my betrayal but the very idea of him spilling the whole sordid affair to Johanna Mason of all people makes me fume on the inside.

“Whatever it is that you _think_ that you know...” I begin but she cuts me off, jumping down from the counter and wiping her hands on her thighs.

“Apparently she thinks you’re a liar, Peeta” she says. “You know Katniss, I made a lot of jokes back in the day about how you probably didn’t even know what you were expected to do in the bedroom. Turns out the joke was on me, huh? Seeing as you had already figured out what you were supposed to do _and_ punched out a baker baby, all before even having the sanctity of marriage to bless your horizontal activities. I’ve really underestimated you.”

“Alright, that’s enough” says Peeta. He leaves his spot by the stove and walks up to me, placing his hands on my upper arms. “Do you want some breakfast?”

“What?” I ask, surprised by the casual question. “No. I already ate.” That part is a lie but the last thing I want is to sit down and have breakfast together with Johanna Mason. “Peeta what is she even doing here?”

“ _She_ is a close friend and entitled to drop by at her leisure” replies Johanna, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Johanna you are not helping” says Peeta, giving her a look over his shoulder.

“Her? Not trying to help her.”

“Nobody needs to _help_ me” I shoot back.

“No, you seem highly sufficient on your own” says Johanna.

Peeta gives her another look and then turns to me again. I’m furious at him for telling Johanna our dirty secrets and for not warning me that she’s here but at the same time I can see how conflicted he is. I know he values his friendship with that woman, though God knows why, and I can’t imagine that he’d want to be caught between us like this. Maybe he confided in her when he was still angry with me and needed someone to vent to and what she got to hear was his initial, hate-filled version. Maybe he hasn’t seen her much since and hasn’t had a real chance to tell her how he feels about it now. Maybe I can’t blame Johanna for being angry with me, no matter how much I feel she should stay out of it and mind her own business.

“I think I’d better go” I say. “I see you every day, Peeta. Johanna isn’t around all that much. I should leave the two of you alone.”

“Aren’t we the noble one” snorts Johanna, rolling her eyes.

“Johanna, seriously!” says Peeta.

“I’m going to go” I say again, pulling away from Peeta and reaching for my bow. “Give me a call when you’ve got time, okay?”

I turn and head for the front door but I hear Peeta following me. I stop by the coat hanger and turn around. He gives me an apologetic look and I’m happy to see that Johanna stayed in the kitchen and didn’t follow him out here.

“I’ll talk to her” he says. “She can’t treat you that way.”

“You didn’t tell me she was coming” I remark.

“I was going to.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down on the floor. “I wasn’t expecting her until two weeks from now but she decided to be _spontaneous_. Anyway...”

“I don’t want to talk about this right now” I say, definitely wanting to know what he’s told her and when he told her but realizing that the time is not right. Not with Johanna just a few feet away. “We’ll talk later, alright?”

“Sure” he nods. “I’m going to talk to her first. You know Johanna, she’s... very protective of those she cares about. Sometimes a little _too_ protective. I can’t tell her what to think and feel about you but if she’s going to be in my house she has to show you some amount of courtesy and respect.” He then looks up at me. “Have dinner with us tonight.”

“What?”

“Give me the day to talk to her and then come over for dinner. I love you and I love her and I can’t have you be at each other’s throats all the time. She’s going to come visit me from time to time and I’ll be going to Seven to see her.”

I think I’m beginning to understand what he’s saying. If he and I are to have any form of real future where we will be sharing a life and a home again then I can’t be at odds with a good friend of his. I can barely suppress the feeling that this is largely his own doing, having Johanna think so low of me, but I bite my bottom lip and nod slowly. It’s not like I didn’t do the things Johanna hates me for. I did get together with Gale after the war and I did give Peeta’s baby away without telling him. I can only hope that she will be willing to try and get along with me.

“Yeah okay” I say. “I’ll come by. I’ll kill us some dinner and we can all... cook together.”

It sounds horrible to me but if it will make Peeta happy I can endure it.

“Thank you.”

He walks up to me and gives me a kiss. I manage a smile and then head out the door. Choosing the quickest way to the woods I walk around the house, passing by the kitchen on my way. I cast a look over my shoulder and stop for a moment. What I see is Peeta saying something to Johanna, her replying, followed by him walking up to her and wrapping his arms around her. I see him bury his face by her neck, giving her a kiss there from the looks of it.

Feeling unreasonably jealous and wounded that he would be so affectionate with her when she hates me like this I quicken my steps and hurry out into the woods where I can use my bow and arrows to vent my feelings.

 

 

To say that I’m uncomfortable when I arrive at Peeta’s house that afternoon would be an understatement. I managed to shoot a wild turkey which will do great for dinner but I can’t imagine that I will have any form of appetite. Johanna and I have never been good friends even before Peeta's and my divorce and I’m not looking forward to being the target of her sharp tongue. But I can’t refuse to go. For Peeta’s sake I have to show up and do my best to play nice and make friends. It’s just too bad that both Johanna and I are terrible at being nice and making friends. I can’t help but wonder how a person like Peeta has ended up being close friends with not only the pair of us but with antisocial Haymitch as well.

While I wait for Peeta to answer the door I shift my weight from one foot to the other, casting glances over my shoulders just to have something to do. I wonder if Peeta’s talk with Johanna will have had any effect on her whatsoever. If she cares about Peeta then hopefully she’ll try and play nice for his sake, just like I aim to do, but I have a feeling that she might instead try to convince him to leave me behind and move on. Maybe that would be the best advice but I’m not prepared to let him go. We’ve come too far for that.

Finally the door opens and Peeta greets me with a kiss and a smile. I feel a little bit better as he takes me by the hand and leads me inside. There’s no smell of food being prepared, which makes sense since they don’t know what kind of meat I’ve brought, but it reminds me that this is going to be a long evening. Cooking dinner will take time, eating dinner will take time and most likely I’ll be expected to stay for a while after dinner. I’m looking at several hours here. Hours I’d rather spend alone with Peeta, miles and miles away from Johanna Mason.

“How was your day?” asks Peeta, taking the plucked turkey from the bag I hand him.

“How was yours?” I ask back.

He doesn’t answer. I follow him inside the kitchen where Johanna is standing by the kitchen island, chopping bell peppers. Great. She’s holding a large knife. She looks up at me with obvious disdain but manages to hold her tongue.

“Turkey for dinner” announces Peeta, holding up the bird.

“I’ll take that” says Johanna. She puts the knife down, wipes her hands on a towel and walks over to him, grabbing the animal. “Back home in Seven we have a special way of preparing turkey. You get to work on the vegetables.”

“Hello again” I say, deciding that if I’m forced to be amicable I might as well start right away.

“Hi” she says shortly and walks over to the counter to get to work on the bird. “You have wild rice, right Peeta?”

“Check the cabinets” he answers.

“ _You_ check the cabinets.”

He walks over and opens a cabinet, finding a bag of rice which he tosses to me. Glad to have something to do I grab a pot and fill it up with water to cook the rice. For a few minutes there’s nothing but awkward silence in the room. Peeta focuses on chopping the bell peppers, Johanna works on the turkey and I try to make the process of pouring water into a pot, adding salt, adding rice and then putting it on the stove take as long as possible. If this is how the whole evening is going to be then it’s going to be a contender for one of the longest nights of my life.

The silence is interrupted by the phone ringing. Peeta sets the knife down and walks over to answer the call. My ears perk up as I wonder if it might be Victor calling. To my disappointment I soon realize that it’s Haymitch.

“Haymitch that is not my problem” says Peeta, holding back a sigh and using his index and middle finger to rub the spot between his eyebrows. “Well then you’re going to have to apologise to her.” He mouths Hazelle’s name to me and I frown, wondering what Haymitch has done now. “Yes but that does not make me responsible for— Oh, okay, fine.” He hangs up and sighs heavily. “Excuse me for a moment, ladies. I need to go over to Haymitch’s with some bread.”

Johanna and I both stare at him.

“You’re _leaving_?” she exclaims.

“For a whole of ten minutes” answers Peeta, grabbing a bread basket. “Think you can avoid killing one another in that time?”

“We’re being perfectly civil” I reply.

“Good. See you in a few.”

He grabs a few loaves of bread, covers the basket with a towel and heads out the door. Johanna and I stare at each other for a few seconds, both of us silently appraising the other. Then she continues to work on the bird as if nothing strange is going on.

“You somehow managed to weasel your way back into his life” she then says.

“So much for being perfectly civil” I sigh.

“Let’s get one thing straight” says Johanna, setting the knife down and turning to look at me. “I don’t like you. Never have, probably never will. But I like him. There aren’t a lot of people left that I care about but he is one. And you betrayed him. Betrayed him, used him, tossed him aside, used him again and broke his heart circa a dozen times. Now you want to use him again and he’s letting you, for some odd reason. Peeta means a lot to me and he’s one of the few truly good people I know and he deserves better than someone like you.”

“Peeta seems to beg to differ” I reply.

“He’s a dumbass moron.”

I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest.

“It’s none of your business whether he forgives me or not. It’s none of your business whether he _loves_ me or not.”

“I’ve told him he’s begging for more heartache by letting you back into his life” says Johanna. “But if that’s what he wants then fine, I’ll play along and act civil around you. Really though, if you had any decency you would leave him be. You say you love him? Prove it. Let him go and let him move on with his life.”

“I did what I had to do to save our son’s life” I say coldly. “Knowing what we now know about how everything turned out it might have been a bad call. If the rebellion hadn’t taken place I still say it was the best choice.”

“You think you’re the only one who’s lost a kid to Snow?” snorts Johanna. “Grow up and stop believing the world revolves around you.”

Something about her tone confuses me. Is she talking about all the parents whose children were tributes over the almost eighty years the Games were held? Is she talking about other victors who had to mentor their own offspring? That could be the case. However there is something in her tone that makes me wonder if she’s talking about herself too, though I don’t know in what way it would apply to her. Before I can begin to figure it out the sound of Peeta whistling comes through the window that’s slightly ajar and the sound makes Johanna return to her task of preparing food.

“For his sake I’ll tolerate you” she says. “That doesn’t mean I’ll ever trust you.”

“I don’t need you to” I say. “I need him to trust me.”

Before she can give a poisonous reply the door opens and Peeta comes back inside, carrying the empty bread basket. His hair is slightly ruffled and he’s smiling happily, for some reason in a great mood despite the bizarre situation we’re in.

“How’s dinner coming along?” he asks.

Throwing a glance in Johanna’s direction I walk over and take the basket from his hands. I kiss his cheek and give the other cheek a quick caress.

“Should be done in about fifteen minutes” I answer. “Finish with the peppers, will you?”

He walks over to the chopping block and grabs a red bell pepper while I take the bread basket and put it back in its place. My eyes go to Johanna again and I wonder if I will ever fully understand her. Why is Peeta special to her? They only spent a few days together on the streets of the Capitol during the war and from what Peeta has told me they didn’t see much of each other while they were prisoners. When did such a deep friendship form between them? When did he become one of the few people she truly cares about and when did she become someone he would share his deepest, darkest pain with? I realize that there are things about Peeta that I don’t know, that he’s never told me about. He gives so much of himself that it’s easy to forget that there are things he keeps to himself.

I watch as Johanna opens a cabinet and finds a cast iron pot, noting that she knew exactly where to find it. I don’t know how much time she’s spent in this kitchen but it’s quite clearly enough for her to be able to find her way around it. This used to be _my_ kitchen and it bothers me that she’s made herself so much at home here. She puts the pot on the stove and grabs some butter to grease it with.

“I guess you can call it a truce, Peeta” she says suddenly. She puts the turkey meat in the pot and grabs a wooden spoon to stir it with. “She doesn’t like me. I wouldn’t mind seeing her burn to death in a forest fire. I don’t think she genuinely loves you. She probably doesn’t think I’m capable of being fond of anyone. Pretty much the only thing we can agree on is that we’re going to retract our claws and act like we tolerate each other so that you won’t have a migraine over it.”

“I suppose I’ll have to settle for that” says Peeta. He finishes with the peppers and walks over to the stove, adding the vegetables to the pot.

“We’ll do better than that” I say, finding it irritating when their heads turn to look at me in perfect sync. “We’ll be amicable around one another.”

“You don’t have to like each other” says Peeta. “I never expected you to. All I’m asking is for is for you to play nice around each other. I want you both in my life.”

“I can’t guarantee that we ever _will_ like each other” I reply. “But I think we need to at least try.”

“Thank you” says Peeta, walking over to me. He wraps his arms around me and I lean in to him, resting my cheek against his chest.

“I still think you’re full of it” snorts Johanna. “I promise I won’t try to kill you in your sleep and I’ll keep my thoughts and feelings about you to myself, starting once this conversation is over. That’s the best I can offer.”

For a brief moment I’m extremely tempted to tell her that if she doesn’t think Peeta is worth the trouble of trying to get along with me then she’s more than welcome to walk out the door and never come back. I deeply wish that she and Peeta weren’t friends, that she didn’t know so much about my deception and all the ways Peeta and I fell apart. But she doesn’t seem to spend time with him all that often, her job in Seven keeping her occupied for the most part, and for Peeta’s sake I can swallow my dislike of her whenever we are around one another.

Peeta lets go of me and begins to set the table. Johanna continues with dinner and I put bread, butter and water on the table. Neither one of us speaks a word until dinner is ready and we’ve all sat down at the table to eat.

“So,” Johanna then says, shoving a forkful of stew in her mouth. “What do you people actually talk to each other about at the table, besides secret children stowed away in the Capitol and how desperately in need of a haircut you both are?”

I share a look with Peeta and almost break out into laughter. I don’t find her candour nearly as charming as Peeta does but I have to admit at times it is refreshing.

 

 

Life continues on. Johanna leaves and eventually the time draws near for when Peeta will leave, too. He will be going to the Capitol in mid-June and won’t be back until October. We haven’t talked much about it. It’s something we both know is going to happen but neither one of us likes to think about. It feels like every time he goes away the separation becomes more difficult, for both of us. I feel so bad for him. When he’s in Twelve with me he longs for Victor and when he’s in the Capitol he misses me. Since I don’t have the option of going to see Victor I have to long for him all year long but at least when Peeta is at home I don’t have to miss him. There are times when I wonder if I should just ask Paylor for permission to leave Twelve so that Peeta and I can move to the Capitol and be near our son but I know Peeta wouldn’t sign off on it. We wouldn’t be able to keep Victor out of the spotlight if we moved there permanently.

I try my best to find ways to distract myself as the date for Peeta’s departure draws nearer. Summer used to be my favourite time of year once the Games were over but now it just seems endlessly long and lonely. Autumn, the time of year I used to dislike because it meant foreboding of winter and starvation, has become something to look forward to. Somehow life has managed to turn my world on its head to the point where the seasons have all switched roles with one another, autumn and winter meaning rebirth and warmth, spring and summer meaning hibernation and chill.

 

 

A few months ago I picked up a new series of books to read. Well, new is not exactly the right word, the books were written centuries ago, but I had never read them before. Peeta got them for me when he was last in the Capitol. Over the past few years I’ve had a growing interest in reading the classics of old, at first because I wanted to get a better understanding for what life was like before the big disasters came but after a while because I realized many of these stories were classics for a reason. We don’t have access to too many of them in Twelve, even though the library adds a few new books to its collection each year. The Capitol has a much larger selection and after his last visit there Peeta gave me this book series which he thought would be of interest to me. The series chronicles a group of people who left their homes in a far off part of the world and moved to the land which today is Panem, in search of a better life. The story greatly appealed to me right from the start. It was easy for me to identify with these people even though I can barely imagine the world they lived in, because they were all dealing with either starvation or oppression or both and they all risked their lives to try and create a better future for themselves and their children. As I read on I began to get invested in the characters. Now I’m on the fourth and final book and even though I eagerly pick the book up each night to read a chapter or two there’s an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach because I know it will soon end.

I’m sitting in an armchair near the fireplace in my house. Peeta is on the couch, trying his hand at carving a flute for Victor. He’s not what one would call a gifted carpenter but his oldest brother was good at carving wood and taught Peeta a few things over the years. I can’t imagine he would be able to carve a functioning flute but if he wants to try I’m not going to talk him out of it. The fire is cackling even though we don’t need it for warmth as it is summer and the sun hasn’t even fully set yet. A vase of primrose flowers fills the air with a fresh, lovely scent.

For the past half-hour I haven’t said a word, completely engrossed in my book. I’m on the last few chapters and I’ve shed quite a few tears already. Peeta looks up briefly each time I sniffle but he doesn’t comment. He knows by now that I sometimes get emotional when I’m reading something that really resonates with me or moves me. Right now it’s more than just the fact that the book is almost over that brings tears to my eyes. It’s a love story that’s touched me, which is a rarity. I usually don’t get very invested in fictional romances, perhaps because I was part of one myself years ago.

Maybe it’s the fact that this is a very downplayed love story that made me invest in it. There have been no grand, sweeping declarations of love and no big, romantic scenes. Just two people sharing a life together through whatever difficulties come their way. Two people who don’t need to declare their love or one another at all times because they both know it’s there. Two people who have grown together and who are at every turn an inseparable team, even though they argue and bicker at times. I’m touched by the simplistic beauty of it and although centuries of time and unimaginable differences in culture and life experiences separates these two fictional characters from me I can’t help but recognise myself in some part of them. It feels like what Peeta and I have the potential to be. Just two people who stay together through life, where one goes the other follows, sharing the burdens and the joys and never questioning that they belong together.

The love story in the book ended a few chapters ago when one of the two died. The death scene was as simplistic and real as any other part of the story and I could feel the pain in my own heart when one spouse sat vigil by the other’s side for days before death came. But the real pang of emotion hits me when I’m on one of the final chapters and I realize that the surviving spouse made it to a high age. To have loved another person so deeply and been so closely tied to them that you couldn’t imagine them without one another and then have to go on living when they die. I realize that the character in the book spent almost forty years without their spouse and it’s almost as if a cold hand closes around my throat, making it hard for me to breathe. I close my eyes and see my mother, still grieving my father after all this time. It’s been so many years since his death and she’s not going to die anytime soon. Just like the character in the book she’ll have to spend the majority of her life without the love of her life, her other half. With that thought comes a realization that I have to put into spoken words or else it might suffocate me right here, right now.

“I’m so terribly afraid of losing you.”

Peeta looks up, his face so confused that it would almost be funny if my heart wasn’t hurting so badly in this moment.

“What?” he says.

“I’m terrified of losing you.”

He gives me a look that seems to indicate he thinks I’m nuts. Slowly he puts the knife down on the table and puts the block of wood down next to it. Then he leans back on the couch and puts his foot up beside him.

“What are you talking about?”

“The reason why I kept you at arm’s length for so long. The reason why I wasn’t able to put words to my feelings. I loved my father and he died. I loved my sister and she died as well. I love my mother but for all intents and purposes I lost her when my father died because she couldn’t handle the magnitude of what _she_ had lost.” I swallow hard to get rid of the lump in my throat. “I loved my unborn baby and he hadn’t been alive for more than a moment before they took him away and I lost him. When I love people I lose them.”

“There are plenty of people you love who are still around” argues Peeta softly. “Haymitch, Cinna, even Gale in a way.”

“It’s not the same kind of love.” My eyes drift to the book in my hands, then back up at the man sitting just a few feet away from me. “I really didn’t want to fall in love, with _anyone_ , because I don’t think I can go on living if I suffer the kind of loss my mother did. I tried to fight my feelings for you. I really did. When I knew there was no use resisting those feelings I still couldn’t call them by their rightful name because...” I sigh heavily. “Because if I did, if I do, then what if I jinx it? Once I admit what you mean to me and what I feel for you then I risk losing you.”

“Katniss--”

“You were wondering before why I couldn’t tell you how I really felt when we got back together after the war. I think the reason was Victor. Today you could tell me there’s no reason for me to think I will lose you, that it’s just an irrational fear, but back then it was different. I _knew_ I would lose you if you ever found out the truth.” I swallow again, the lump refusing to go away. “And I did.”

“Yet here I am again” replies Peeta softly.

I blink rapidly a few times. A few tears fall down my face and I look away for a moment, wiping them off with the back of my hand. My eyes go to the book again, my heart aching for the fate of the character who had to go on living for so long after the death of the spouse.

“We’ve been so close to death so many times, you and me” I say, my voice trembling slightly. I feel myself shivering slightly even though it’s warm. “We haven’t had all that much time together. I know we’re still young but who knows how much time we’ll get? I don’t know how to handle the possibility of you dying young, leaving me to try and go on with my life without you. Losing Victor is crippling enough. Losing you, the person who feels like... like half of me, the one who’s my partner and my closest companion, the man who holds my heart... I don’t know how a person goes on day after day, year after year, _decade_ after _decade_ when they lose something like that. I don’t know how my mother does it, how she can stand it. The reason why I couldn’t tell you how I truly feel about you is because I can’t bear to put a name to what I couldn’t stand to lose.”

“It’s okay Katniss” says Peeta gently, quietly.

“I’ve wasted so much time Peeta” I complain, wiping a few more tears from my face. “I’m so sorry for that. Whenever you’re ready to give me your trust again and be with me for real I want you to know that I won’t waste another second. If anything does happen to you that takes you away for good I want to be able to know that we made the most of the time we had together. I want to be able to know that you knew how much I love and appreciate you. And that I don’t take you for granted. I know I’ve taken your love for granted in the past but never _you_. Quite the opposite in fact.”

Finally he gets up from the couch and walks over to me. He takes the book from my hands and pulls me up on my feet. Silently he wraps his arms around me and I wrap mine around him. We stand like that for several minutes, him gently rocking us back and forth.

“My poor darling” he mumbles in my hair. “These fears you talk about, you should have never had to be burdened with things like that. I know I haven’t been the most understanding and forgiving person over the past years but I’ve never forgotten what life has put you through.” He pulls back and kisses my brow, gently pulling strands of hair away from my face and tucking them behind my ears. “We’re both going to feel safe again. Maybe it won’t happen today or tomorrow or next week but we will get there. Together. I promise.”

His arms are strong and comforting. His body pressed to mine feels like a rock to cling to. Sometimes I feel like clinging to him is clinging to my own sanity. Other times I refuse to allow myself to depend that much on another human being. Tonight I need him to be here with me more than ever before. And he doesn’t disappoint. When it’s time for bed he follows me upstairs and climbs in next to me. Enveloped in his comforting warmth I sleep calmly and soundly, dreaming of a life where he stays with me until we’re old.

 

 

On one night in early autumn, shortly after Peeta's return home, Peeta and I sit together on his couch and kiss. We do that sometimes now and it’s lovely if somewhat frustrating. Peeta’s hand is on my cheek and I have mine tangled in his hair. He tastes like the chilli we had for dinner and my mind keeps going back to wondering if his hands taste that way too or if they taste of cinnamon, sugar and cardamom. We part for air, smile at each other and then lean in for another round of kisses. It’s probably getting late but I’m in no rush to get off the couch and head home. I want to stay in his arms until he throws me out.

“It’s getting late” he finally says, breathing against my lips.

“It’s early” I claim and kiss him again.

“No, I think it’s time for bed” he chuckles. “You’re welcome to join me if you’d like.”

At first I’m not sure what he means but the suggestive look on his face leaves little to the imagination. I should probably come up with some witty or sexy or suggestive retort but all I can manage is to simply nod my head and say “okay”.

We walk up the stairs hand in hand and stop outside the bedroom door. He gives me a smile and then he opens the door, letting me walk in ahead of him. The room looks much the same as it used to, except the yellow bedspread his mother made is gone and replaced with an orange one. I walk right up to the bed and pull the bedspread down, wanting to be between the sheets as soon as humanly possible. I hear Peeta chuckle behind me and then his arms wrap around my waist and his lips land on my neck. I close my eyes and lean my head back a little, giving him better access. I stand perfectly still, letting him dictate what we do next and in what time, even though every part of my body is ready to throw him down on the bed and yank his pants down.

He releases me and takes the bedspread, folding it neatly and placing it on the chest at the foot of the bed. He then goes to the windows and pulls the blinders down, opening one of the windows to let in fresh air. I pull down the comforter a bit and then just stand there waiting for him to return to where I am.

He walks up to me and kisses me deeply, hungrily. My hands trace from his face down along his chest and find his belt buckle. I remove the belt and undo the top button of his pants. Then my hand slides underneath the fabric, making him recoil a little at the feel of my cold hand on his warm belly. I move further down and I feel him underneath my fingers. His lips leave mine and he closes his eyes, leaning his head back with a gasp.

Encouraged by his reaction I pull my hand out and unbutton my shirt, then sink to my knees to pull his pants down. He moans my name and fists his hand in my hair while I do my best to show him how I feel about him.

Eventually we end up on the bed where Peeta takes a painfully long time to get me out of my clothes and rediscover my body. Finally I can’t take it anymore and I grab him by the hair and shove him over on his back, swinging my own leg over his waist. I gasp with relief as I sink down on him and feel him fill me completely. We move together in our perfected rhythm as if we haven’t missed a beat during our years apart. I hear myself moaning his name and that I love him, which gets enthusiastic responses every time. When I finally come apart on top of him it’s only the first time of many that night.

When we’re finally done and the first early light of dawn has begun to creep into the room I lie wrapped in his arms and think that there couldn’t be better bliss than this. Peeta kisses my cheek and mumbles to me even though he’s more asleep than awake.

“Stay with me Katniss.”

“Always.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you've noticed I didn't have some important event take place that made Peeta trust Katniss again. I think things like that are more based in proving yourself over time and the idea in this chapter is that by being there with him in their everyday life, dealing with various difficulties, he slowly regained his trust for her.
> 
> The book Katniss reads is the last book in Vilhelm Moberg's "Emigrants" suite. I absolutely recommend these books to anyone who enjoys reading because they are frankly superb. I chose them for this chapter partly because of the specific part Katniss reads which tied in with what was going on in the story and partly because I think if she were real she would find that they spoke to her. They deal with a lot of the same issues she struggles with (poverty, persecution, having your life turned on its head) and they do so in a very simplistic, natural way that I think she would appreciate. It's also one of the greatest love stories ever put to paper, in my humble opinion.


	21. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to illness and being out of town I've barely seen my computer all month. I think I'm starting to get caught up now though, which means posting the very last bit for this story. As good a way as any to wrap up 2013, I guess =)

 

 

Her little face is perfect. Round apple cheeks, perfectly shaped little mouth, nose like a button, sweet blue eyes, wispy curls of dark hair crowning her head. She's three weeks old and sleeps in my embrace, her mouth close to the nipple she will be looking for when she wakes up. We named her Paxton, a name that holds the Latin word for "peace".

I was still set on never having kids again when Peeta and I got remarried. I still don't trust the world we live in and I still carry the pain of not getting to raise my son every day and I didn't want anything more to do with bearing children. Peeta stopped spending all summer in the Capitol after we were married, limiting his visits to six two week visits each year spread out from January to October. The loss of our firstborn will probably always pain us and I knew that a new baby could never make up for that.

I've showed Peeta the crib his brother made. It was right around the time we got married again, when we had decided to finally give my house back to the government and trust each other and our feelings for one another enough that we would only ever need one house. I didn't want to leave the crib behind in the basement so I took Peeta down there and told him the story of the beautiful piece of furniture. It was difficult to see him then, his hand caressing the wood, remembering his brother and probably thinking of the son he never got to rock in a cradle. He decided we should keep it and give it to Victor the day he becomes a father. I took that to mean Peeta accepted that I wasn't going to give him another child.

I'm not sure what it was that changed my mind but I think it was a slowly appearing but increasingly strong desire to get to raise a child with Peeta. To have a baby that was part of us both and belonged only to us and whom nobody could ever take away. When I told him I wanted us to have another baby he did not need to be convinced. Paxton was conceived three months later.

This pregnancy was more difficult than my first. I spent most of it in an irrational fear that I might lose this baby too, either as an infant or that she would die young just like Prim, just like Rue. In addition to that I was worried that something that ought to bring spouses together might actually drive a wedge between Peeta and me. I knew beforehand that he had a lot of questions about when I was pregnant with Victor and he did ask a lot of them during these nine months. I should have known though that he doesn't have it in him to be hurtful or cold about things like that. All his questions came from genuine interest and concern and when he asked me how different stages of this pregnancy was compared to when I carried Victor he never had an ounce of blame in his voice.

He had an incredible amount of patience with me while my mood was all over the place. Even Haymitch avoided me for three out of the nine months. My erratic behaviour shocked me since I had been much more calm and in control of my emotions the first time around. Then again a lot of things were different about carrying this baby. I felt a lot more nauseous, gained more weight and I first felt her move much later than I did with Victor, which caused me to panic when I couldn't feel her. Peeta quickly learned when he could affect my moods and when it was better to just leave me alone. For the most part he was loving and attentive, often caressing my belly and talking to his unborn daughter, doing whatever he could to make the pregnancy easier for me.

The birth was a horrifying experience. I chose to have her at home out of a deeply rooted fear that if I gave birth at a hospital someone might take my baby away just like they did with Victor. It didn't matter that I knew things were different this time around. So I went through labour in our own home with meagre methods of pain relief. I thought it was bad the first time around. This time it was much, much worse and I have vague memories of screaming to Peeta first that I'm going to die and later begging him to kill me. He handled the whole thing calmly, or at least he faked calm in front of me, keeping me calm and focused as best he could.

They say that childbirth is easier when your partner is there with you. I don't know about that. At times it was very comforting but I was barely aware of Peeta's presence towards the end and frankly his voice constantly mumbling in my ear irritated me. What did help was going back to the thought I had when I gave birth the first time, about how other mothers could focus on knowing they would soon be rewarded by holding their baby in their arms. This time it was true for me and my whole focus was on my unborn baby and getting to finally meet her.

When she arrived I had my eyes and ears open, wanting to absorb everything. I was shocked at the sight of her, so red and wrinkly and tiny. I barely noticed the tears falling down Peeta's face, much less the ones on my own cheeks. Then she was wrapped in a tiny yellow blanket and Peeta gave her to me and it was the happiest moment of my life. To see her perfect face, feel her lovely scent, hear her adorable little noises and to know that I have as much time as I want with her. She opened her blue eyes and looked at me, seeming confused and almost as tired as I was. With the help of the midwife I got her to latch on to my nipple and this time I didn't take my eyes off my baby as she had her first ever meal.

"Ten perfect little fingers..." Peeta counted. "Ten equally perfect little toes."

"She's perfect" I decided. "In every way. And she's all ours."

When she was done nursing I gave her to Peeta. I wanted to keep her in my own arms and never let her go but I knew that seeing him with our newborn baby would be an incredible feeling too. He sat down next to me on the bed and stared adoringly at his baby girl and I could tell that she already had him wrapped around her little finger. He only took his eyes off of her to lean down and give me a loving kiss. I rested my cheek on his shoulder and together we watched our daughter yawn, stretch out her little fingers, form a fist with her right hand and then drift off to sleep with a sigh. I felt a moment of melancholy wishing we could have had this with Victor but I've long since accepted that I will never not feel guilt and regret over having had to give him away.

After she had been put in her crib, the one her uncle made all those years ago, we signed her birth certificate and I asked to keep a copy of it. I keep it framed, hanging above what will one day be her bed in her nursery. I walk in there several times a day and look at the legal document that promises that she belongs to us and nobody will ever be able to undo that.

Mother's name: Katniss Mellark.

Father's name: Peeta Mellark.

She was born on May 13th, only five days after my own birthday. By the time she is three weeks old school is out in the Capitol but this year Peeta is staying home with our new family. On my birthday he surprised me with the news that Sulla and Alexandria have decided to spend this summer visiting some of the districts with Victor and that they will be spending one day in Twelve. It's just for a day but for the first time ever my son will be in my home.

Victor is twelve years old now, turning thirteen in the fall. If we had kept him and there had been no revolution he would have been eligible for the Reaping. It's strange to think that more than a decade has gone by since I had my first child. He's on his way to becoming a young man now and in most ways he is still a stranger to me. I will never let that happen with Paxton. With her I will be an ever present mother, everything I wanted to be for Victor but couldn't.

Paxton's little eyes open and she sniffs for my breast. I can't keep from smiling. She's hungry, always. Every three hours she wants something to eat which means I can barely get any sleep. Peeta got me a milk pump so for the past week he has been bottle feeding her every evening, allowing me some time to rest. Some nights I fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow. Others I try to stay awake because I love watching him feed her. Her tiny hands try to grab the bottle but they're too little. Sometimes she closes her eyes and seems to just enjoy filling up her belly, other times she looks up at him with what I can only interpret as utter baby love. I'm torn between suggesting Peeta should feed her more often so I can watch them together and they can share that bonding time, and not wanting to lose a single such moment for myself. I feel safe when I nurse her. I know she's right there and can't go anywhere.

For the moment there's no dilemma as to who will feed her. Peeta is not at home. He has gone to the train station to greet Victor and his parents. Alexandria and Sulla will go straight to their hotel but Victor is coming here for a visit. I think Alexandria is very curious to see how we live but with a three week old baby in the house we wanted it to be just Victor visiting. There's a nervous pit in my stomach, a mix of excitement that he's coming and worry that he might not like me. I haven't actually seen him face to face since that time years ago, half his lifetime ago, in the Capitol. All I see of him is the occasional photograph and all the drawings Peeta has made.

"Your brother is coming for a visit" I whisper to Paxton. "All the way from the Capitol."

She pays no heed to my voice, focusing only on nursing. One of her tiny hands is on my breast and I place a finger gently on top of it, loving the feeling of her olive skin underneath me. Then my hand runs over the soft, dark curls on her head. They say it might change colour and turn blonde like her father's and that her eyes might turn into my grey ones. I don't care either way. All that matters to me is that she's healthy and she's here to stay.

I hear a car pulling up and turn my head in the direction of the door. I'm in an armchair in the sitting room and right now I wish I had chosen a different spot. Like right by the door for example. Then there are steps on the front porch and the door opens.

"... for some time" I hear Peeta's voice.

"That's neat" answers another voice, one I know well from hearing it over the phone.

I smile widely down at my daughter and decide she has had enough to eat. She protests when she's taken from my breast but I put my little finger in her mouth and she suckles on it and doesn't begin to cry.

"Hush..." I say softly. "We have a visitor."

I look over my shoulder as Peeta and Victor walk in. For almost a full minute I do nothing but stare at the boy who is my newborn child's older brother. When I last saw him in person he was six and still a small child but now he is twelve and an adolescent. His hair is still ashen like his father's and his eyes are still blue but they have kept the shape of mine. Other than that it's hard to tell which one of us he resembles, if he does in fact look much like either one of us. He seems tall for his age and sports a tan which suggests he spends a lot of time outdoors. I wonder if he plays sports, like his father does, or if he spends time out in whatever woods the Capitol suburbs have to offer.

Victor isn't looking back at me. He's staring at the infant in my embrace. It must be strange for him, I realize. Being as closely tied to this little bundle as two children can be and yet all he knows about her is her name. She doesn't look much like anyone at this point, just a tiny little face which is now creating large amounts of spit when my finger is no longer in her mouth. Peeta walks over and leans in to wipe it off with a soft bit of fabric from the baby blanket. He kisses my brow and encourages Victor to come up and have a look at the baby.

Slowly, hesitantly, the boy steps up.

"Hey..." he says carefully. "Hey Paxton."

The baby burps which makes Peeta laugh and Victor look startled.

"You can come closer if you like" I say and angle the baby so that he can see her better.

Victor leans in and takes a good long look at the infant. He doesn't seem overwhelmed, rather he looks like he doesn't get what all the big fuss is about. He takes a seat on the couch next to Peeta and the two chat easily with each other, though my son keeps looking over at Paxton and me. I stay mostly silent, focusing on the baby. It's enough for me at the moment just to see and hear Peeta and Victor together.

Victor stays for a few hours. Peeta sets out cookies and hot chocolate. Then they go outside for a while and I'm not entirely sure what they are up to but I think a ball is involved. While they are out I nurse Paxton again. When they come back inside they both take a seat on the couch but then the baby needs a diaper change and Peeta offers to do it. He leaves with our daughter and I'm alone with our son. I pull my feet up under me and smile faintly, trying to think of something good to say.

"It's a shame you can't stay longer."

"Uh-huh" nods Victor, looking around the room at all the things around us, as if he's trying to get a better feel for who we are. Or maybe just who I really am.

We sit there for a few minutes in awkward silence. I get the feeling there's something he wants to talk to me about or ask me but either he can't find the right words or he doesn't dare to. He looks at me with a frown, the look that reminds me so much of Ryean.

"When I get older, can I come here for visits during summer?" he asks, a question I had not expected at all. "Dad says it's okay but I thought maybe..."

"What would your parents think?" I ask, regretting having opened with that as soon as the words leave my mouth.

He shrugs and looks down at his shoes.

"Haven't asked them yet."

"Well... If it's okay by them..."

He looks thoughtful. I wish I could just tell him how much I would love having him here but I'm afraid I might frighten him if I'm too enthusiastic. We're still strangers to one another. He looks up at me again with hopeful eyes.

"Can I come and visit Paxton?"

"Of course" I say. "She's your sister."

He smiles at me and I wonder if it's my own smile I see on his face. It's not Peeta's or anybody else I can think of with blood ties to the boy. Perhaps it is his very own. Encouraged by his favourable reaction I find myself smiling back at him and giving a bit more generous of an answer.

"You're always welcome here."

"How long before she can... you know... do something fun?"

I laugh a little.

"Probably a while. She hasn't even begun to smile yet. She'll get there, eventually."

Peeta comes back with Paxton and sits down with her next to Victor. The boy leans in and takes another close look. I can't keep a smile off my face, seeing the three of them together. The three people I love the most in the world, all connected to one another through me.

"We have to get going" says Peeta with dismay after fifteen minutes. "I promised your parents you would be back in time for dinner."

He gets up and walks over to me, carefully handing the baby over. I get an awkward little wave from Victor before he heads off with Peeta, the two of them already caught in a conversation about some new instrument Victor wants to try.

I look down at my precious baby daughter and smile again. I can't seem to stop smiling whenever I'm with her. Haymitch just snorts at that and tells me that once she's kept me up all night for a few weeks and she poops and pukes all over the place I will be on his doorstep with the baby in a basket begging him to take over for a while. I tell him I wouldn't allow him to babysit if it was a matter of life or death. He's probably right that the wondrous feeling I'm experiencing probably will go away eventually but for now I intend on enjoying it, and my family, every single waking moment.

 

 

Paxton grows and becomes a beautiful little girl with a stubborn streak a mile wide. Her hair is long and dark, her eyes are grey and she looks much more like me than her father except when she grins. The grin of hers is exactly like Peeta's and she quickly learns that she can disarm me completely with that face. From an early age I can tell that she will grow to be more like her Aunt Prim than me or her father, showing great love and fascination for every animal she encounters.

When she is three years old she gets a baby sister whose name ends up being Kitty, completely against my wishes. Kitty was very active in my womb, my stomach literally bellowing towards the end of the pregnancy as she moved around in there. Peeta took to calling her the little wildcat so when she had been born and Paxton was introduced to her new sister she pointed at the baby, took the pacifier from her mouth and exclaimed "Kitty"! After that there was no convincing her that Kitty wasn't her sister's name and eventually I had to give in. Peeta suggested we name her Kathryn and leave Kitty as a nickname she could set aside as she grows older but I have a feeling that nobody will even remember her name is Kathryn when she grows up.

From the age of thirteen Victor begins to spend his summers with us in Twelve. Alexandria and Sulla protest and claim he's too young to leave them for such a long time but Peeta curtly reminds them that he is still the legal parent and that twelve was deemed old enough to be taken from your family and put in the arena.

"I can't help it" he told me later. "It's satisfying to see the look on their faces when I point stuff like that out."

As time goes on I develop a better relationship with my son. He's always most comfortable with Peeta but we begin to understand each other when we spend more time together. He never calls me Mom or any other variation of Mother. I assume he's just too old to start using a name like that on me. I can live with him calling me Katniss but I wonder if there's ever been anything I've liked to hear better than my girls calling me Mother.

My son gets along very well with his sisters. Paxton in particular adores him and likes to brag to her little friends that she has a brother in the Capitol, which was how the secret came out to the public. The media frenzy was insane for a while and I suspect they will always enjoy speculating about what really went on between our Games and the end of Snow's regime but neither Peeta nor I say anything on the subject and Gale is anything but forthcoming when they approach him. He acknowledges that he's not the actual father but that's all he will say.

When Victor is sixteen we finally have the talk I sensed he wanted to have the first time he visited us. Kitty is eight months old and sitting on my lap playing with a rattle. Peeta has taken Paxton to town to buy her new shoes which she has been going on and on about all morning. The house is still and quiet and Victor takes a seat on the couch while Kitty and I sit on the floor together.

"Did you want me?" he asks, so out of the blue that I don't even understand the question at first. "When I was born..." he elaborates. "I mean, you were just seventeen. A year older than I am. From what I understand you didn't even... love Dad then..."

"Who told you that?" I frown and push Paxton's toy car away from Kitty's greedy hands.

"The old alcoholic who lives two houses down."

"Haymitch?" I exclaim.

"At school they teach us about the Hunger Games and the star-crossed lovers from District 12 is one of the major points they bring up. Mother and Father can't shut up about what a great love story the two of you share but I distinctly remember that you weren't together those first few years when Dad started coming around. It didn't make a lot of sense to me and I ran in to Haymitch the other day and thought I would ask him. He just kind of... guffawed."

"The reason I gave you up for adoption had nothing to do with your father" I tell him. "If you've read about the Hunger Games then you've read about the Reapings. They rigged the Reapings to put children of victors in the arena. I knew that they could never resist making mine and Peeta's child a tribute so I made the decision to lie about who your father was and give you away. It was the only way I could think of protecting you."

He ponders it for a long time. It must be a lot to process and I'm betting he has been wondering these things for many years. I give him some time to digest what I just told him. I set Kitty down on the carpet and let her practice crawling. Her high activity level did not stop after birth and she immediately tries to worm her way to the end of the carpet, making me have to lean forward and catch her.

"Did Dad know?" asks Victor.

"No" I say, keeping my eyes on my daughter because it's easier than looking at my son. "I wasn't sure we could pull it off if he knew. Either way, why subject him to it? I never thought I would get to see you again or ever find out how you were growing. I didn't even know if I had given birth to a boy or a girl. Sparing Peeta from that pain seemed like the decent thing to do."

There's another long pause.

"So... Did you want me?"

"I never wanted children at all" I admit frankly. "I couldn't handle the thought of standing there on Reaping Day and possibly hearing their names drawn. I had to hear Effie Trinket read my sister's name and that was horrendous enough. Getting pregnant was never part of my plan."

"Oh" he says. He sounds dejected but not surprised.

"Once you existed I couldn't afford to let myself think about keeping you" I go on. "I knew I didn't want an abortion but I had to protect you somehow and if I got emotionally attached I would never be able to give you up. That's why I never even knew your gender or saw your face when you were born. Still I... I've missed you every day of your life and always wished I could have had different options. I don't regret making the choice that I knew would save your life but I have always loved you."

"So you didn't give me away because you were unmarried at the time? And kept the girls because you had them in wedlock?"

"I would have kept you if I only dared to. Marriage had no role in it."

He smiles faintly. Then he gets up from the couch and walks over and kneels opposite me, about five yards away. He holds his arms out to his sister and encourages her to come to him. Kitty needs not be told twice and she lets out an excited shriek and begins to make her way towards him. It's more worming than crawling but she's surprisingly quick. When she reaches her brother he scoops her up in a hug and gives her a big kiss on the cheek.

"You're a little speedster, aren't you? Go back to Mama."

He turns her around and when she sees me she gurgles happily and her whole face scrunches up in a grin. She worms her way back towards me but encounters a problem when she comes to the edge of the carpet. Frustrated by the hindrance she begins to shriek at the top of her lungs until Victor lifts her up and places her on the carpet.

"Alright, alright, there you go" he says calmly.

She quickly makes her way back to me and I lean down and give her a big kiss. I then turn her back around and we spend the next fifteen minutes with Kitty practicing her crawling, going back and forth between me and her brother. Whenever she reaches Victor and he gives her his full attention I can almost pretend I'm watching a teenaged Peeta playing with our first child. It's the closest I will ever get to seeing that old daydream realized and I think again of how different things could have been,  _should_  have been for us. And yet, with all the pain and suffering and loss we have been subjected to it's almost impossible to believe that we can find any happiness at all in life anymore. Our children add to that happiness but I know I will never be without that gnawing sense of worry in the pit of my stomach, the one that beckons me to keep a watchful eye out and make sure that no harm ever comes to these three lives we have brought into the world. None of them asked to be here and it is on our shoulders to shield them from the things that hurt and damage.

 

 

As the years go by Kitty continues to be a whirlwind. She looks exactly like a female version of her father except she has my hair. It's almost strange looking at her and seeing Peeta yet not Peeta. She resembles Victor more than Paxton, who takes after me much more than her father. Together the three of them make up an interesting group and it doesn't seem to matter how old they grow, they always seem to be up to mischief whenever they are together.

Music continues to be Victor's great passion and he plays several instruments by the time he's fifteen. Kitty always seems to be on the move and Peeta wants to let her try all kinds of different sports and channel her energy into something. Paxton loves animals and constantly nags her father and me for a pet and while Peeta often wants to relent I am firmly against it. To me you don't keep pets unless they can contribute to your sustenance in some way and after the war I can't think of anything we might need from an animal. Peeta dryly suggests that companionship might be a quality that a dog or a cat could bring but I retort that we don't need an animal for that, we have each other.

One summer's evening Victor offers to read the girls a bedtime story and Peeta and I both gladly accept. Kitty has been all over the house with what feels like every single one of her toys and the place is a complete mess. It takes us forever to clean up downstairs and put all the toys back in their chest in the downstairs guestroom, which functions as a playroom.

"I'm exhausted" groans Peeta and sinks down on the couch. "Is that girl sneaking sugar from the cabinet when we're not looking?"

"Either that or Haymitch lets her drink from his bottles" I say, sitting down next to him and putting my legs on his lap.

"If I wasn't this beat I would suggest that we leave the girls with Victor and go for a nice refreshing  _calm and quiet_  walk through the woods... ending with wild sex up against a tree."

"Ha!" I scoff. "You couldn't even manage lazy sex right now."

"Is that a dare?" asks Peeta, one eyebrow suggestively raised.

"You wish" I say and give him a playful smack on the shoulder. With a huff I get up from the couch. "Besides, we can't leave them with Victor and go for a walk. You know how Kitty goes crazy if she wakes up and we're not here."

Peeta nods and gets up as well. Our youngest is going through a phase where she has bad dreams that everyone is gone and then she panics if she can't find us right away when she wakes up. The dreams are very disturbing to me; I deeply hate that my little girl should have to experience worries like that in her dreams and seeing her fear and sadness when she wakes up breaks my heart. There's not much we can do, though, and the doctor we've spoken to says the dreams will go away on their own when she grows older. For now we're just going to have to live with her coming running in to our room several nights a week and jumping up in our bed, sobbing and wailing.

"I'm going to go prepare the dough for tomorrow's breakfast" says Peeta and yawns and stretches his arms.

"Okay" I say and place a kiss on his cheek. "I'm heading upstairs to check if the girls are asleep yet. Maybe Victor would like to take a walk if you want to get out of the house for a while. I could stay and calm Kitty if she wakes."

"Nah" shrugs Peeta and gives me a proper kiss. "I wanted to take a walk with  _you_."

I smile at him and grab the last of the toys from the coffee table. These go up in the girls' rooms. Kitty's toy train which she likes to run through the entire house in the morning, never minding who she wakes up. Paxton's crayons and the colouring book Peeta has made for her. She doesn't show any of her father's talent for painting, at least not yet, but she likes to colour things. There's also a stuffed toy, a monkey given to Paxton from Haymitch on her second birthday. She loves it like crazy, always wrapping the monkey's arms around her neck so she can carry it with her. The only time she doesn't seem to care for it is when she's going to bed. She has never had a binky or a security blanket of any kind and seems to hate having inanimate objects in the bed with her.

I reach the top of the stairs and walk towards the bedroom our daughters share. In a few years when they no longer need their playroom we're planning on turning it back to a guestroom and letting the girls each have their own room. For now they get to share. Neither Peeta nor I see anything negative about it; we both shared a room with our siblings before we became tributes. The only thing that makes it troublesome right now is that Kitty wakes Paxton up when she's had her nightmares. Paxton has learned to just wave her sister off when Kitty shakes her shoulder to check that she's really there and then go back to sleep when her sister trots off to check on Peeta and me. Peeta wants Kitty to go back to her own bed after a nightmare but I'm far more lenient and want to let her sleep with us so she can feel safe and protected. Peeta argues that she'll never learn to sleep on her own that way and I suppose he has a point but I can't fault her for wanting her father and me near after a bad dream. I still cling to Peeta when I have one, which is usually at least once a week. The biggest problem I see with letting our youngest sleep in our bed is that she's just as active in sleep as she is when she's awake and she often ends up kicking one or both of us or sprawling across the bed to the point where we can't all fit comfortably. One of us, usually me, then gets up and goes to sleep in Kitty's bed instead. Peeta is better at comforting someone after a nightmare anyway.

There is a soft light coming from the half open door of the girls' room but I can't hear a sound. Are they both asleep already? If so, where is Victor? Carefully I nudge the door fully open with my foot and then a smile spreads across my face.

All three of my children are on Kitty's bed together, barely fitting in all three of them. Victor is flanked by both his sisters, Paxton with her head resting on his chest and Kitty drooling on his arm. He notices neither because just like the girls he has fallen asleep, the book laying open in front of him. The sight of the three of them together nearly brings tears to my eyes and as quickly and quietly as I can I tiptoe over to the tiny toy chest by the foot of Paxton's bed and place the train inside of it together with the crayons and the colouring book. The monkey is put on his spot on her nightstand. Then I walk back to the door and just stand there for a while, watching the three of them.

A pair of strong arms sneak around my waist and my husband's lips find my cheek.

"Uh-oh, looks like he succumbed to the exhaustion of reading bedtime stories too" murmurs Peeta, and from his voice I can tell he's smiling.

My smile grows even wider and my hands reach down and caress his.

"Just look at them..." My voice barely holds as emotion overcomes me. "I never thought I would get to see something like this. My son... with my other children, who I never had to give away. You know he comes more to see his sisters than to spend time with us, right?" I laugh shortly. "He's seventeen years old now. The age I was when he was born. When I look back we seem like we were so adult at that age but he is still a kid."

"As he ought to be" says Peeta softly. "He is what seventeen year-olds are supposed to be when they haven't been forced into an arena to fight to the death and they don't have to get married."

"You're right" I smile. "Should we wake him up? We need to move Paxxie to her own bed anyway. He's going to get a wry neck if he lays like that for much longer."

"Yeah..." says Peeta unconvincingly. "Shame, though. They look pretty great together."

"We could get the camera."

"I think I actually might."

I giggle and he lets go of me to grab the camera. It's in his painting room since that is the only door of the house we have a lock to aside from the bathrooms. We keep everything in there that we don't want our daughters to break and the camera Effie gave us for our second wedding is definitely one such item. Peeta loves it and used to take all sorts of artistic photographs before the girls began to interfere with his attempts at taking pictures.

He returns with the camera and I step aside to give him room. He snaps a couple of pictures and then goes to put the camera back. I wait for him to come back to the room and then together we walk up to the bed where our three children are sleeping.

As gently as possible Peeta scoops up Paxton in his arms. She comes to a little, mumbles something incoherent in a whiny tone and then falls back asleep before he's even carried her all the way to her own bed. She wakes again when he lays her down but then she's rolled over on her side with her face to the wall and is once again fast asleep. I lean in and give Victor's shoulder a gentle shake. He stirs, blinks and looks around him with a bit of confusion.

"The girls are asleep" I tell him in a whisper. "You should move. That looks uncomfortable."

He groans and carefully sits up, making a disgusted face at the drool on his arm. Kitty doesn't notice at all that her pillow leaves but in her sleep she pulls her teddy bear closer. Carefully Victor gets off the bed and yawns, looking quite groggy.

Peeta switches the nightlight on, a big gaudy thing Effie gave Kitty for her birthday. It's shaped like a butterfly and Paxton is really jealous of it and it doesn't help to point out to her that they share a room so both get to enjoy it equally as much. I turn off the light on Kitty's bedside table and then I follow my husband and son out of the room, switching the light on the ceiling off as I walk out. The door is left ajar and the lights in the hallway are dimmed so that the girls can still find their way if they wake up and go to find us.

"You know what?" mumbles Victor, rubbing his neck. "I think I'll just go to bed now, too. I don't know where Kitty gets her energy from but after chasing her all around the house and the lawn today I could probably sleep for twelve hours."

"Good idea, head to bed" says Peeta and gives him a pat on the shoulder. "In fact, I think we could all use an early night."

"Maybe we should take Haymitch up on that offer to put up an obstacle course for her on his lawn" I say tiredly. "She could run around it for hours and tire herself out."

We say goodnight to Victor and retreat to our bedroom. Our usual bedtime rituals are performed. We wash our faces, brush our teeth, change into bedclothes, open a window, fold the bedspread and finally climb under the sheets and wrap our arms around each other. I feel so much at peace on nights like these that I could almost forget the nightmares that probably await me and the grief I still carry over the people that I've lost and the horrors that I live with, from Hunger Games and the war. On nights like these I feel like a normal wife and mother enjoying a normal, happy life.

Peeta's lips find mine and immediately I feel the familiar hunger. We begin to work at each other's clothes, removing only our underwear in case we're walked in on, and then Peeta's face moves further and further down my body until it's right where I love it the most. We have to be quiet and I could swear Peeta is amusing himself by trying to make me lose control and make noises I oughtn't to. He fails, but only barely. We make love to one another and then settle in for the night.

"I love you" I whisper to him before I close my eyes to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus it endeth. An enormous Thank You to everyone who's stuck with the story. Thanks for all the encouragements, comments, constructive feedback and the love. It means a lot to me and I hope you think it's been worth the ride =)
> 
> Have a good end to the year and a happy new one!


End file.
